


mend

by wishingwell44



Series: fight until your knuckles bleed [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Dreams and Nightmares, Elements of Homophobia, Flashbacks, Frottage, Happy Ending, M/M, Masturbation, POV Alternating, Panic Attacks, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sharing a Bed, Undercover, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2019-11-16 03:51:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 45,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18086894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishingwell44/pseuds/wishingwell44
Summary: mend (mĕnd):1. To make repairs or restoration to; fix.2. To reform or correct: mend one's ways.*The Red Book is still missing, Bucky Barnes escaped from prison, and empty facilities are starting to blow up. It's time for Steve Rogers to do whatever he can to make things right.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All rights belong to Marvel.

**Day 1 to Day 3: Steve**

It all started with a promise.

Before Steve started his months long operation to bring in the Ghost, he made a call to Peggy. He made that one promise to visit her in California, but didn’t realize he would be skipping town, looking for his old friend from Brooklyn that happened to turn into For-Hire Assassin that was being controlled by his primary care doctor.

So instead of taking the day to fly out for the weekend, Steve just left D.C. He took out as much money he could from the ATM, parked his car at some random lot, and walked to the bus station to purchase his ticket to leave the East Coast.

A promise was a promise and he wanted to stick with it, even if it was a two and a half day bus ride.

*

In Saint Louis, Steve started to get paranoid. He started to look at the people in the crowded lines. Black hair would emerge, and Steve would tighten his grip on his ticket, silently hoping it was Bucky so he could hug him and kiss him and try to convince him to come back to..to wherever. As long as they were together. He would see red hair, thinking it was Natasha following him, but in both cases, they usually ended up being some other random person.

As the bus hitched, stopping short at a light, the thoughts started to run through Steve’s mind.

He let the Ghost go. He gave him a key to the guard’s car. He made it look like It was all Bucky’s idea.

It wasn’t.

 _He_ was a fugitive. He would be charged with Assisting or even instigating an escape. That could be up to 10 years.

He needed to hide. At a small pit stop, Steve saw the small shop, and walked inside to pick up a generic looking baseball cap and aviators. It wouldn’t do much. He was still a 6 foot 2 tall, 220lb guy, he couldn't blend into the the crowd any more he was already doing, but if it was to ease his mind, it was beter than nothing. 

Steve sighed, as the thoughts went through his head, and shoved his cap down to catch a little bit more sleep.

One more stop, and a train ride to go.

*

Steve was happy he was using the pre paid phone, and even happier he remembered to change the number. He brought a small black booklet of numbers he wanted to have in his back pocket just in case...something happens.

He texted Peggy when he got on the train.

**See you in 17 hours. Train is pulling up to union station at 7:30ish.**

_Look at you, not taking a plane._

**I’m choosing to be more impulsive this year**

_Certainly seems like one of you choose a Greyhound over First class._

*

Steve walked off the train to the fresh Californian air. During this time was too sunny. He was used to the bitter winds, and light snowfall that would shut down cities at a time, but warm air and palm trees would have to do. 

Los Angeles - the city of stressed out actors and one and only Peggy Carter. Steve readjusted his duffle bag on his shoulders and placed his sunglasses on, hoping Peggy called him a cab. However, when he saw a bright red car sitting at the curb across from the tracks, looking like it just drove off the studio lot, he had a feeling that Peggy didn’t care who saw her. 

“Steve!” A British accent was heard. “Steve! Over here!” Peggy waved from the driver’s seat. He smiled softly. Always the one to make an entrance. 

“A little flashy for an FBI agent, huh?” Steve said as he looked into the open window.

“Considering how you probably thought that you were going to take a cab like someone out of the 1950s, I thought I would spice it up a bit.”

“It’s going to be two days of this, isn’t it?”

“No, not at all,” Peggy answered sarcastically and gave a grin. “Get in, Daniel is making dinner now.”

Steve placed his bag in the backseat, got into the passenger side, and just relaxed. He turned his head over to see her just smiling back, while holding onto the steering wheel. “It’s been too long, Pegs.” 

She smiled back, and put the car into drive. Peggy put the windows down, allowing the warm wind to wash over their faces. 

*

Steve dropped his bag by the guest room, and walked back to the kitchen. 

“You must be Steve,” Daniel looked up from his iPad, and smiled. He stuck his hand out to give Steve a handshake, and Steve accepted. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“You as well, I’ve head nothing but good things about you from Peggy,” Steve smiled. 

“Thank God,” Daniel laughed, “She’s always telling the Vegas story to people, so I’m glad you still think of me as a saint.”

“The Vegas story?” Steve asked with a chuckle.

“Oh, God you don’t want to know,” Peggy walked into the kitchen with places and utensils, and started to set the table. “Hi, babe,” Peggy walked around Steve and placed a kiss to Daniel’s lips. He gave a smile in return. “Steve, sit down, Daniel made tacos for tonight. Water? Iced tea?”

“Something stronger?” Daniel laughed.

“Water, actually. Thank you,” Steve said. “But, I think I might take you up on that offer later,” he directed the statement to Daniel. 

“So, how long are your travels?”

“Long term?” Steve sighed, “Not sure. But, I’m here for a couple of days.”

“Work’s okay with that?” Peggy questioned.

“Sure.”

Peggy didn’t believe him. 

“You can stay longer if you want, Steve. I personally don’t mind, and I don’t think Peggy has any issue,” Daniel looked at Peggy, “with that?”

“Thank you, really. I have, uh, some stuff to straighten out,” Steve sighed softly.

“Okay, okay, but the offer is out,” Daniel said. 

Peggy put the ground meat on the table in the center. “Well, it’s two days more than we’ve had since Richland.”

“Richland was that mission in Washington state, where -”

“Yep,” Peggy said quickly before continuing to place food on the table. “Let’s eat.”

*

Daniel went to bed after a couple of after-dinner scotches. Peggy grabbed a big sheet for Steve’s bed and opened it up, letting it fall on the bed.

“Peggy, I got this, got to bed,” Steve said softly.

“Well,” she said as she started to tuck in the first corner, “I’m pregnant, not suffering. You can help, though.”

Steve dropped his head, “Okay, okay.” He tucked the second corner in, and Peggy and Steve almost moved in unison tucking in the other two corners in. 

“So,” Peggy said as she threw Steve a pillow. “Last time we spoke, you said that you would visit after your latest gig.”

“Yes,” Steve caught another pillow.

“Shocked, honestly, that you’re not in another coma.”

“I was still in the hospital for a few days.”

“Steven Rogers, did you get yourself shot?”

“Shockingly, no.”

“So, you just end up in a hospital for fun?” Peggy asked quickly, as Steve continued to hold the pillow. “How many times are you going to risk your life for your job?” Peggy was starting to get angry.

“What about you, Peggy? What...what about Daniel,  _your child._ This job is a risk - it’s in the contract.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I quit,” Peggy folded an unused sheet. Steve was just quiet, and put the pillow down. 

“You...quit?” Steve was quiet.

“Well,” Peggy sighed, “I quit field work. I’m positioned in a more senior role.”

“Pegs, that’s,” Steve stopped and sighed. “I feel like a huge asshole. I haven’t even really asked about you. That’s amazing, Peggy.”

Peggy smiled. “Steve, you are the furthest from being an asshole. Just an idiot.” 

“Well, I’m the idiot that now works under you. How should I be addressing you now?”

“Deputy Assistant Special Agent Margret Carter.” 

“That’s a mouthful, are you sure I just can’t call you Peggy, still?” Steve smirked. 

“Outside the office, Special Agent Steve Rogers,” Peggy used her serious tone.

Steve gave her a sloppy salute. “Yes, ma’am,” Steve dropped the last pillow to the bed. “I’ll tell you the story another time, Peggy. I promise....just not today.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Peggy smiled.

“Goodnight Pegs."

“Goodnight, Steve.”

*


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 4 to early morning Day 5: Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All rights belong to marvel. 
> 
> This chapter deals with nightmares. If you would like skip to the part after, you can start with "Someone shook his shoulders." The small part will be explained further in the end notes.

Steve woke to the coffee machine beeping, and slight shuffling around the kitchen. Steve’s back was to the noise. He closed his eyes again lightly as he didn’t want to disturb the intimate moment between Peggy and Daniel.

Steve imagined a scene. A scene of early morning, with the sun shining through the window. Steve would be leaning against the counter sipping coffee out of the mug. Bucky would pad into the room, give a lazy kiss to Steve and start to reach for a dry mug by the sink. Steve would touch Bucky’s hip to bring him back to where he was standing, bringing them closer so their hips would touch. They would kiss, eventually it becoming deeper - before Steve would mumble that he would be late for work. 

Bucky would smile, and pull back to face Steve, and quip it was purely Steve’s fault. Bucky would smile again, and touch Steve’s chin and  _gently_  rub his jawline before gripping his neck and cutting off his air. 

“ _All because of_ you _Steve,”_ Bucky would grit between his teeth. “ _What can you say now, huh? Huh, Steve?”_

_“Steve?”  
_

"Steve?" someone shook his shoulders and he took deep breaths that he didn't know he was holding. "Hey, love, wake up."

Steve opened his eyes. 

“Where - Peggy?” Steve sat up in bed, in a thin layer of sweat. 

“Hi.”

“Right. California.”

“That’s right.”

Steve put pressure to his eyes with the palms of his hands. “This is so embarrassing.”

“No, it’s not. Stop thinking that.” Steve didn’t respond. “Okay, well. I made breakfast. Daniel had to step out for a while.”

“Breakfast is a good start.”

“Good.”

*

They sat outside enjoying the soft chirps of birds coming from the backyard garden. 

“I’m always amazed at the Californian weather this time of year,” Steve said quietly.

Peggy placed the plates on the table. “How so?”

“Well, sixty-five degrees, warm winds...at this point it should be snowing and cities would shut down, for all I know. It’s throwing me off,” Steve started to eat the eggs that were set in front of him. 

“You’re such an East Coast man,” Peggy laughed, making Steve chuckle in response. She sat down, and sipped her orange juice, letting the silence blend in to the outside noises.

“What do you want to know, Peggy?” Peggy just raised her eyebrow, in confusion and to the sudden change of topic.”When we were undercover and something went down, you would get this...look in your eye.” Peggy put another piece of egg in her mouth. 

“I mean, when someone in your own home wakes up screaming, you start to ask questions,” Peggy stated.

Steve took a sip of his coffee. “Sorry about that.”

“Again, you have nothing to apologize about, but...I think I need a little bit more than just primal screams and averted gazes to try to figure out what’s going on.”

Steve leaned back in his chair, still holding the cup of coffee, and pursed his lips together. Peggy ate another bite of the eggs. “Did I ever talk to you about Bucky? From Brooklyn?”

“The kid you were hopelessly in love with when you were younger?” Steve’s neck became flush. “Wait - what happened with him?”

Steve sighed, not really wanting to tell the whole story. “Did your division ever work on something about the Ghost?”

“International assassin extraordinaire?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Wait," Peggy finished chewing her food, and took a sip of her drink. "Was this Bucky -  _the_  Bucky - him?”

“Got it in one,” Steve paused. “Our...meeting didn’t end well.”

“Makes sense.”

“What does?”

“The screaming. I don’t blame you, Steve, and neither should you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

_And neither did Bucky,_ Steve thought. “Don’t you have work?”

“Steven Grant Rogers, don’t you dare try and change the subject on me, and if you should possibly know, took a couple of days off of work.” 

“...and I’m completely ruining it, aren’t I?”

“Absolutely not,” Peggy placed her mug down, “How about this - it’s nice out and we need to take advantage of the weather before it get’s balmy. How about a hike?”

*

The weather never got too hot. The sun shined just enough for the both of them to be able to only need a workout shirt and shorts, but the power of the sun still made them break out in a sweat. The hills of LA led them to the view of the cityscape. People lived, died, and went on as Steve watched from the cliffs.  It was everything and nothing happening at once.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Peggy smiled as she braced her hands by her side.

“Yeah,” Steve could only manage to say. 

“What time are you heading out?”

“Probably 6am. Wouldn’t want to crowd you.”

“At least stay for breakfast?”

Steve dropped his head and looked at Peggy. “Breakfast it is.”

The both of them started to walk back to the car, down the winding dirt path. 

*

Steve woke up early, seeing lightened color of the sky through the window. It was time to go. Not only did he just unload all of his problems onto Peggy, he forgot to  _spend time_  with her. The hike was good - cleansing - but he needed to move. The FBI had resources to find him - Steve knew. He, technically, still was a special agent with them. The kitchen was quiet, so he was able to walk by with no issues. Steve placed his zippered bag down on the floor near a coffee table, and from his back pocket, a sealed envelope was placed with Peggy’s name on top. 

He left another piece of him behind. 

Steve opened the door and stepped what he thought was the porch, but he felt the unmistakable crinkle of a newspaper under his feet. 

The top headline practically shouted at him.

_**EXPLOSION IN OREGON FOREST** _

For a reason unbeknownst to Steve, he finally knew where he was headed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve falls asleep thinking about what could have been. The dream turns into a nightmare where the Ghost starts to suffocate him, only to be brought out of the dream by Peggy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 3: Bucky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All rights belong to Marvel

Bucky Barnes toyed around with a grenade. 

The last few months were emotionally and physically taxing, and he was happy to get to a place that seemed less busy than Falls Church. He stood around in the empty facility in the Pacific Northwest days after punching Steve Rogers square in the face.

Back on the East Coast, he met Stephen Turner, a headfirst, but creative artist that wanted to spread messages through art to make a statement. He fell in love after what felt like almost a decade without any physical closeness -  with  _someone, anyone -_ and then his life fell into shambles.

Well, into more shambles than it was before. 

Bucky was being manipulated into...into the killer that he actually was. The killer that Zola wanted him to flourish into. He was being manipulated and molded like  _fucking play-dough._

Bucky’s grip tightened on the grenade. 

The facility.

 _God,_ Bucky thought _, how many times have I come here?_ Bucky’s breathing increased, and the anxiety creeped up into his spine.  _How many times have I been_ forced  _to come here?_

Bucky screamed. Screamed like he killed people he didn’t want to kill. Screamed like he was forced to take memory inducing medication. 

Screamed like he lost a lover.

Bucky pulled the pin, threw the grenade as far aways as he could, and ran before opening up the rusty doors up the stairs. He allowed himself to be hit by low, small branches and ferns in the forest that the facility was located in. The explosion rocked the trees, and sent a rush of energy that burst through the only exit point from the underground facility. The force of the explosion knocked Bucky off of his feet and face first into dirt and low lying plants, with a rush of heat hitting his back.

Bucky stayed on the ground for a few minutes letting everything settle. He shifted to look at the damage done. The ground by the door started to cave in slightly, which to him meant the explosive worked, but there were orange and yellow flames started to creep through the door. 

“Shit.”

He usually thinks things through - where to hide, where to stash the weapon - but in the fit of rage, he didn’t plan. Bucky got up and kept running, and kept running until he reached the forest’s edge.

*

He was greeted with a dark and wet road. The morning misting ended an hour before he made the makeshift lake bed, but it was cloudy enough for the road to still be wet.

Bucky just started walking along the side. He heard cars drive from at least a half mile away. He just kept walking, not paying attention to the car that slowed down  _by 1.2mph, left wheel has lessened tire traction and -_  Bucky shook out from his own thoughts, and found the bag he stashed up the road. 

*

The way from the prison was not an easy one. He had one stolen car, one orange jumpsuit, one undershirt, one pair of boxers, and one pair of white terrycloth and rubber sole shoes to his name. That day, Bucky just kept driving, fast along a route he some how knew. 

Every so often he would stop at some low lit gas station, find the one car that looks like it still ran fine, but not payed attention to, hot wired it, and drove off. He switched plates between cars, just to throw cops off. 

The art of stealing helped him get a small pile wardrobe of worn t-shirts and sweatpants that helped with blending in. 

On those paths, every so often Bucky would see a tuft of blond hair, and his breath would catch, but it would just be another midwestern farmer. 

Money was another obstacle. He had skill - albeit that skill was killing - but it also ended up shaping into preciseness. In other words, Bucky was a one man show for placing bets or hustling people. He would sit around drink beers, hear people laugh and laugh, and shrug if anyone would like to play pool. People would join, and Bucky would lose, on purpose. 

He would joke, “Bet you twenty bucks I can make the 8 ball in to the left side pocket?” to the other player, and they would drunkenly agree, slapping a twenty dollar bill on the table. 

“Double or nothing?” Bucky would boast yet another impossible shot, and pocket the money. There was one bar early in his trip he would hear the phrase, “Damn, he’s like another Barton!” like he was supposed to know who that was. 

The small amount of cash could only get him by for only so long. He would steal cards from various people and take out enough money for the banks to not notice anything strange - only adding to his infinite number of felonies. He wasn’t going to have a home right away, so having enough for a hotel until he could find a job was key. He used the bar money for meals, and the rest went into his bag, wrapped by a crumpled plastic shopping bag.

*

When Bucky grabbed his backpack from behind some sort of makeshift hole from underneath a tree, he changed when walking, looking like he was just taking off a jacket and being invisible to the peripheral eye. He tucked his hair into a beanie and placing a heavy canvas jacket on, thanking the weather gods that it was just a tad bit warmer for the month and no snow had stuck yet. In a matter of minutes, he was no longer in his make shift tactical gear, but in civilian clothes, looking like a guy who just wanted to take a long walk by the forest edge. Cops and emergency vehicles started to drive from behind him - the large SUVs finding the dirt path into the forest. 

One police car slowed down, hitting his siren twice. Bucky kept his cool, and slowed his pace, before facing the cop. 

Bucky cleared his throat. “Hi, officer.”

“Hey there, uh” the cop continued after shifting in his seat, “ There was an explosion not to far from here. I need you to get as far away from here as possible as there might be contamination as we do not know what was used.”

Bucky used his most convincing voice. “An  _explosion?!_  What the  _fuck_? Is everyone okay?” 

“We do not have that information. Are any of your friends or family in that location?” 

“No, thankfully. I was the only one out here today.”

The officer started to take out his notebook and write down the information he was talking about. 

“I was walking by the Milicome River when I heard something kind of loud. Thought it was a big tractor trailer crash in Ash.”

The officer just hummed. “Okay. Any chance you remember where your car is?”

“Was dropped off by a friend. My,” Bucky looked at his burner phone, “my phone just died too.”

The officer just sighed, and placed his notebook in the center console. “Get in, passenger side. Don’t touch anything. I can bring you as far as Ash to get you out of the containment site. We’re not sure of any details as of yet,” he said as he picked up the radio to make some calls. 

It took an hour, but the cop dropped him off at the post office. He retrieved his bags and waved goodbye, knowing he would have to immediately find a way to a large city before the authorities recognized who he was.

*

Bucky stood by the back of the office, letting the phone charge. There was a sprawling map of Oregon in front of him, and saw a small dot right by the Pacific coast. It wasn't the  Astoria he knew and loved to visit every so often, but the Astoria where he could blend into.The Astoria where he could get lost. Bucky picked up his phone and searched for taxi services and tried to call a few his next temporary home.

It took him an hour of strange looks from the postal worker, as they sorted packages in the room behind the partition. Bucky giving a slight wave to when a postal worker turned around to look at him quickly. It took an hour - a solid hour - to frustratingly try to convince a service to pick him up for a three hour drive to Salem, and another to get him to his final destination, but after some hushed arguing and a promise of a healthy tip, he was on his way to a new residence.

*


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 4 to early morning Day 5: Bucky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All rights belong to Marvel
> 
> The flashbacks of memories from Bucky's time as the Ghost.

By the time Bucky reached Salem, it was pitch black outside. Bucky thanked the driver, and gave him a nice tip. 

Three hours to go until his freedom. 

The car, as promised, was waiting by the closest bar. Bucky tugged on the handle to let the door swing open. Bucky looked at his phone for confirmation of the driver. “Are you,” he paused to read the name on the email, “Harold?”

The man in the black suit turned around in his seat. “Yeah, that’s me,” He sighed and tapped a few buttons on his phone. “Christian, right? All the way to Astoria?”

“All the way,” Bucky said in a centralized accent. He heard the twinges of the driver’s accent. Harold set the car in motion, and merged onto the highway when he was ready. Bucky sat at window seat watching the lights pass by, one by one. It kept him focused on nothing in particular. It reminded him of the trees in Virginia. 

It reminded him of the drive to the museum. The way  _he_  cared for his safety. The way he stopped the car for him, made sure he wanted to continue. 

What if they drove back?  _What if they stayed at home. What if I said no? Would_ he  _still be_ him _? Would he die from Zola-_

_Zola._

_Whe-re. Zo_ **la** _._ **_вдохновитель. нет хозяина своего_ разума.**

_Bucky?_

_“_ Buddy?” Harold pulled him from the tunnel vision he was experiencing. His breaths were ragged, and shuddered a few times. “Do I need to pull over? I have a fee if you throw up in this car. I’ve had too many drunks puke in this thing, and can’t really have this car smelling bad for another two and a half hours.”

“Can you pull the car over for two minutes?” Bucky barely whispered.

“Sure,” Harold said as he looked through the rearview mirror. The car came to a slow halt, and Bucky almost removed the door while opening it. He crashed on the ground. His hand, rather his gloved metal hand, fell into a freezing cold puddle, and his flesh hand right on the dirt. His hands dug into the hardened ground. 

“Deep breaths, Christian,” Bucky heard from beside him, but just far enough away, that the other man probably felt safe. Bucky complied. “Hold for four, then release.”

He ended up on his elbows, latching his hands behind his neck, watching the condensation escape from his mouth. Bucky complied. He just wanted to get out of here. Out of this prison, out of -

“How we doing?” Harold asked quietly.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Harold repeated. “Let’s get back on the road.”

*

“Do you want some music? We can do a classical playlist? Smooth Jazz? Oh, I know Maroon 5 just came out with this new easy listening album we can maybe listen to that?” Harold scrolled through the options on the radio screen.

“No, thanks.”

“Cool, how about this awkward silence?”

“That’s fine, Harold.”

“Happy.”

“Good for you.”

“No, call me Happy. It’s an old nickname my previous boss gave me.”

Bucky just looked back at Happy’s reflection in the rearview mirror. 

“So what do you do?”

“Construction.” Bucky really didn’t want to have these conversations.

“That why you’re heading to Astoria?”

“No, I need a change from before.”

“Huh, where were you before?”

Bucky put his palm to the space between his eyes. “Could we possibly...not talk so much?”

“Sure.”

“Thank you, Happy.”

*

“Was it an ex?” Happy asked in the dead silence.

“Oh my god.” 

“So it was an ex. What was she like?”

“Not a she, for starters.”

“Oh, the story gets better.”

“There’s no story to tell.”

*

It was Bucky’s turn to talk. “Where’d you learn those breathing techniques?”

“Hm?”

“You only see those in therapy.”

“My last client, before I took up this gig suffered from anxiety after some issues. He couldn’t even get into a car for a while. So to help him get through it I learned square breathing in a  _quote end quote_  support group for friends of persons with anxiety.”

“Did it help him?”

“Not as much as it helped you.”

*

“How long until we reach Portland?”

“We passed Portland at least forty minutes ago.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

*

“So it really was because of one dude?”

Bucky sighed. “Yeah.”

“What’d he do?”

“Lied.”

“People suck.”

“You got that right, Happy.”

*

Happy put the car in park, which jolted Bucky awake. “Hey, Christian? We’re here.” 

“What’s this?” He asked bleary eyed.

“You put a bar down as your final destination, but I think this hotel will do the better trick. I think it’s like 70 bucks a night. Get a shower, and a good night’s sleep.”

Bucky gathered his bag, and took out the money he owed, plus a nice tip. “Thank you.”

“I’ve done this drive once or twice. It’s no big deal, man.”

“For the talking. The company,” Bucky stuck out his flesh arm for a handshake. Happy turned around and accepted. Bucky left the envelope on the passenger seat.  “Find a place to stay, so you can drive in the morning.”

“You got it, chief. Also,” Happy reached into his inside coat pocket, “If you ever need someone to drive you, anywhere, let me know. I’d be happy to do so.”

Bucky opened the car door and slid out. He turned around and took the card. 

“Thank you.”

*

He got to the hotel desk -  _this feels like some sort of deja vu -_  and placed his bag down on the floor. “Hi, I would like to see if there’s a room available for the next couple of days.” The hotel employee typed in a few words into their computer, and just kept typing.“Look, I have enough cash. I’ve been traveling for what seems like months, haven’t had a shower in a week or so, and I just need to  _sleep.”_

The employee sighed, and swiped a key card. “Room 329, the best way is the main elevator.”

Bucky gave a terse nod, and grabbed his bag.

*

The door unlocked when he inserted the key, and he let out a very long sigh. He dropped his duffle by the bed, and made sure to look for the safe. He put the thinning stack of money in the locked box and grabbed a towel to the bathroom. 

It was white. It was pristine. 

He turned up the shower and let the steam fill up the room. After shucking his clothes, he stepped into the hot stream of water. He didn’t care if his skin turned red. He didn’t care if anyone would just saunter in. 

He just didn’t care. He needed a release. He needed this shower. Bucky soaped himself up, letting it catch the dirt and grime that had been on his body. He turned around to let the water hit his back.

The water was still hot, and it stung slightly.

_Count._

Bucky shook his head to try and release the memory.

_Count, **Ghost.**_

_One._

He felt the electricity course through his back.

_Two._

Bucky’s breath hitched.

_Three._

He fell onto the floor on both hands, with the water still cascading over him, and took deeper breaths, with droplets of water falling into his mouth.

He managed to quickly turn the water off, and just sat on the shower floor, completely naked.

Exposed.

Bucky, for the first time in what felt like years, broke down and cried.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 5: Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All rights belong to Marvel

Steve opted for the train. He couldn’t drive a rented car, as he would have to provide a license and a credit card. Those items would be entered into a system, and could be flagged by none other than his own co-workers.

Steve looked at the schedule on the departure board before walking to the ticket service, trying to convince himself that the trip would be better rather than driving.

“Any trains directly to Oregon?” Steve asked as he walked toward the partition.

“Last one just left an hour ago,” the ticket servicer barely glanced at Steve.

“Oh,” it felt like all of Steve’s energy left his body. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, but that slight shimmer of hope was whisked away in one word. 

The woman behind the plexiglass just sighed, as she could hear Steve’s disappointment. She typed hard on the decade old keyboard one letter at a time. Leaning into the microphone she sighed again. “The next train departing, only goes to San Francisco.”

“That’s it?”

The employee looked at Steve. “Yes.”

Steve sighed in return. “How much?”

“Eighty-four bucks.”

Steve counted up the cash and slid it under the partition. He was going to have to find something in San Francisco. He had his credit card but it was just Another way to track him down. Maybe he’d lay low for a week or so. If Bucky changed places, hell, he’d change course as well. Steve sat in the waiting area, and just let the news report from the television become white noise.

*

Steve stuffed his duffel bag above his head. He a twelve hour trip to go and planned to sleep until last call.

*

“Yeah, I’m on the train now,” The man talking quietly on the phone sat down across the isle from Steve. He opened his bleary eyes to the Santa Barbara train station.  “I had a job, no not  _that_  job, my real job,” another pause. “Four clients constitutes a real job.”

Steve tried to ignore him, he really did. He sat up in his chair and adjusted his hat and looked He peaked at his phone. Two and half hours of sleep that practically felt like he was asleep for days. 

“I will be back in time for Cassie’s basketball game, I promise,” the man looked at his watch, and grimaced slightly. “Yes, I was there for her last one, the one where she made that three pointer - a month ago? That was not a month ago. I will be there - ” he stopped, looked at his phone, and sighed. 

The train hitched, and started to move again, and Steve leaned his head back on the rock hard pillow. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve could see that he just wanted to talk. 

“Don’t you wish we had those flip phones again?” the man opposite him asked. 

“What?”

“When those Razors were super popular, I would hang up the phone by snapping those shut. Now you just press a button lightly.”

Steve just hummed, smiled tightly and shifted in his seat. 

“Heading up to the ol’ ‘Frisco?”

“Yeah.”

“Visiting family? Or traveling?”

“Getting away from L.A.”

“Yeah, that place can be anxiety inducing. Toxic. One of my old cellmates was from Burbank, said he was glad to be out of that hell hole. Granted he murdered his wife, so, not sure how I would take that travel tip,” he took a few breaths. “I’m revealing too much information up front, aren’t I?” 

“Just a bit.”

“I’m Scott,” He stuck out his hand, and Steve reluctantly shook it.

“Nice to meet you,” Steve drew his smile into a tight line. “Grant.”

“You an actor or something?”

“What?”

“You look familiar. Were you in one of those car movies? The ones where they drive them off buildings. You...you just have one of those  _actor-y_  names.” 

“Stunt man.”

“Nice,” Scott started to take off his jacket. “There was this guy I knew - he was this extra on Breaking Bad. Told me that Cranston was the nicest guy he’s ever met.”

“Good to know if I ever work with him.”

_Seven and a half hours to go,_  Steve thought.

*

Steve sat back down in his seat with a sandwich from the bar cart. Scott was just sitting there, scrolling endlessly on his phone. As much as he didn’t want to talk, maybe Scott did, and well. Maybe Scott could offer him a job or at least know someone who needed some help with something.

Anything.

Something that he, or now Grant, could help with. Steve bit into his sandwich, and sighed. He’s going to have to make friends with Scott.

“So, Scott right?”  Steve asked.

“As my ex-wife says, the one and only,” Scott mentioned lightly.

“What do you do? For a job, I mean.”

“Private security and security solutions,” Scott said matter of factly. “Me and my three friends, all deal with all types of possible security consultations or installations.”

“Just the four of you?”

“We’re building cliental.”

“How long have you been in the business?”

Scott leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Well, in terms of  _this_  job - eight months, but I have been working with security in general for a long long time.” Steve must have had a confused look on his face. “I went to prison for robbing.”

“ _Oh.”_

_“_ Bad joke, my fault. I’m in the status of being reformed. I think that’s why I started this company,” Scott’s voice trailed off. “Do you have kids?”

“No. Maybe in another life.”

“I have this one girl. Cassie. Seven years old and she is my world,” Scott flipped through his photos and showed a picture to Steve. 

“She’s adorable,” Steve smiled, and Scott beamed.

“Thanks. When I went away, all I had to remember was the face of pure sadness. Within the three years I never got to see her. My ex-wife never allowed her into the visiting center,” Scott sighed. “I get it. Not something you want to expose a child to. We talked on the phone, but it wasn’t the same.

When I came home, the joy on her face was something else. It was like if you released a thousand unicorns into a meadow. Best feeling in the world. I’m doing it for her. She’s the reason why, ” Scott’s phone started to buzz. “Gotta take this, conference call,” Scott smiled lightly and got up from his chair. He tapped his phone, and answered the call, loudly. “Luis! What is  _up?!_ How’s home base? _”_

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. Six hours to go.

*

“Do you know of any motels in the area?” Steve asked offhandedly.

“Hm?” Scot turned to look at Steve, “Oh, uh...the Amsterdam Hotel is good, kind of puts you in the middle of things.” 

“Thank you, I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Just - don’t ask for room 707.”

“What  _is_  room 707?”

Scott leaned over in his chair and harshly whispered, “You don’t want to know.”

*

The rest of the ride was smooth. No talking, and Steve managed to get a few more hours of rest underneath his belt. No flashbacks, no memories - just peaceful sleep. He was awoken by the conductor’s announcement that they would be pulling into the station in a few minutes. 

“Like that and we’re home,” Scott smiled and unplugged his phone from the charger. “Quite honest, thought you were dead. I was gonna let one of the bar guys to call 911 if you didn’t budge. Glad you did!”

“Thanks,”  _I think?_ Steve continued his thought after. “Well, it’s been a nice ride. Thank  _you_  for the conversation.”

“You’re welcome, man. Look, the FBI didn’t choose me as a CI for nothing. Talking is one of my strong points.”

The train came to a halt. Scott grabbed his bag, and started to walk out of the door, before turning around to yell to Steve. “X-Con Security Consultants! No job is too small!” 

Steve waved, still confused. 

Lang. 

_Lang._

Sam’s voice rang through his memories. 

“ _How was my trip to Cali? My trip was two hours in a locked room with the CI Lang talking his_ ass  _off about how to dismantle a safe that is literally a hundred years old and how someone was gonna steal whatever was inside.”_

_“What was inside?”  
_

_“Man, who_ gives  _at shit. We literally sat outside some other fucker’s house for six hours waiting for someone to steal it when we got word that_ Lang  _was the one at another house_ stealing whatever was behind that hundred year old safe.”

“ _You should have then probably accepted my call.”_

_“It could have gotten me out of two hours of hell. Instead I let the phone ring with your dumbass face on the caller screen.”  
_

Scott probably recognized Steve’s face from the caller ID. Steve let the other train goers by first, not wanting to stop the flow of traffic, and tried to wrap his head around how small the world actually was.

He might have to visit the company to talk a bit more about his time with the FBI.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 6: Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All rights belong to Marvel

Steve sat in a nearly empty cafe, and sipped his coffee. It was good - warm, bold, and did the job. It had been days since he had at least one cup. It tasted...different. Definitely not the coffee he had in L.A. or D.C. 

Definitely not the coffee  _he_  recommended in Falls Church.

Steve leaned back in his chair, watching the barista wipe down the counter. He reminded himself of his apartment -  _Stephen’s_ apartment - where  _Stephen_  would always wipe down the counter while Bucky was around. Steve wanted to feel those eyes on him again. Wanted to feel like he was the vulnerable artist that Bucky believed him to be. It felt like it was such a distant memory, as though it was from a life long ago.

Steve went from an multi-bedroom place in Brooklyn, filled with his parent’s laughter to quietness. He went from an empty condo in D.C. to a lively apartment complex in Falls Church, and back to the same...same nothingness.

The emptiness followed him, and somehow the tiny hotel room he snagged last night, too small for a man like him, started to feel like a mansion in the Hamptons.

Just because there wasn’t that  _one_  person with him.

*

Steve had less than two hundred dollars to his name at this point, and had to conserve as much as he could before running to the ATM, and getting caught by the system. 

Job.

Food.

The basics. 

He sipped the cup of coffee as he typed in the WiFi password, and started to read some news sites. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular, but he  _was_  looking. There were the normal topics - politics, book reviews -  but what he did see when he refined his search to something more local-  was a small profile on a small town -  _the_  town - in Oregon. 

Near the explosion. 

The article recounted a quick history and light banter between the reporter and spotlight subject (a postal worker with an ambivalence to pretty much everything). Not much had been said about the actual event. From what Steve could put together, from the two paragraphs that described the scene of the explosion, there  _was_  something underneath the ground. 

Metal under dirt, full HAVAC systems that were installed almost two decades ago, and ashes of the incinerated paperwork that had been kept and stored there, all collapsing into a metal pit that will eventually become a man-made lake. 

All from something that was never quite there to begin with. 

Still, a lead was a lead, and will have to continue his search until he actually finds something more. Steve continued to scroll until he found the link for local jobs needed.

He hit a few pages, until something caught his attention.

> NEEDED:
> 
> ONE DISHWASHER - ENTRY LEVEL - MINIMUM WAGE 
> 
> TOLLARDS RISTOURANTE
> 
> CALL 415-555-6178

Fifteen dollars an hour - money was money, and hopefully that money was money that could help him stretch out his stay for the time being on the West Coast. Steve needed to figure out who he was in San Francisco before he continued. He could probably still be Mr. Stuntman - it was someone that someone already knew that false idea of him, and didn’t have to skirt around multiple names.

The job was easily transferable to be off the books. He wouldn’t necessarily  _need_  a birth record or social security card, however...it might be the few things he would have to provide. A fake I.D. card was easier to obtain. 

His guise being from L.A. meant that a drivers license was needed, especially if he was a working stuntman, but he would have left the car at a friend’s place, since there was little reason to use in San Francisco. 

 _So,_ Steve thought,  _how does a stuntman go from active in the film industry to a dishwasher in NoCal?_

A speaking role? Maybe?

He’s here to find his muse, to find his voice, to become the next Leonardo DiCaprio. He needed to convince the manager to be paid off the books. One mention of Mr. So-and-so producer and so-and-so publicist would help keep on the low profile and maybe the lack of bank statements to lead the paparazzi off of his tracks.

Steve leaned on the table and placed his hands in his face.  _This is already becoming bigger than it really needed to be,_ he thought, and groaned in frustration. He would have to find out the one place where he would get the fake I.D. 

*

Steve brought up his phone and dialed the number listed on the site. He heard the tone ring a few times before someone picked it up.

“ _Tollards Restaurant, how could we serve you today?_ ”

“Hi, uh,” Steve paused. “Hi. I read an ad about this place needing a dishwasher? Is that position still available?”

“ _Hold on_.”

Steve’s line went silent and he had to make sure that he was still on the line. 

“ _Tollards, Phil speaking_ ,” the manager grumbled into the phone. 

“Hi, uh. I am calling for the dishwasher position posted on Indeed?”

He heard Phil put his hand to the phone and yell to no one in particular. “ _I told you it would work that quickly!”_ Phil spoke back to him. “ _Hello?_ ”

“Yes, this is Grant for the dishwashing position?”

“ _Have you had any experience in the kitchen?_ ”

“Not exactly.”

“ _That’s fine, you’ll learn. Can you come in tomorrow at 11am?_ ”

““That’s a perfect time. Yes, absolutely.”

“ _Great. See you then, Grant. You’re still going to have to fill out some forms tomorrow and have a background check, but you’ll have a day or so to get antiquated with the place. Just wear some jeans and a plain white t-shirt and sneakers.”_

 _“_ Thank you so much, Mister...”

“ _Just call me Phil.”_

 _“_ Thank you, Phil.”

*

A background check. 

A system to check Employment, education, criminal records, credit motor vehicle and licenses...Everything to check for that someone was at very least not throwing plates at people, or taking money out of the register. 

He could fake it. Maybe not even have to pull out the movie star trope.

He could fake all of it. He had at least a day.

 _Now,_ Steve thought,  _License. Those generally run fifty bucks._ He pulled out his wallet, and counted the money he had. One hundred and fifty. Enough to still be able to sleep in a bed and eat some food. Steve brought his cup back to the service counter and looked at the bulletin board trying to find some semblence of clues to where he could get one. He racked his mind through any more Californian cases. Not much filtered through the D.C. office - granted younger divisions got the crappy cases and most of those even were only across the D.C. metropolitan area. 

Mostly when he needed documents forged, Steve just went to Fury. 

Thankfully, he had some training. 

Something caught his eye. A brightly colored paper pinned under a few more was hidden.

> **Δ **Σ **π******
> 
> ******PROFESSIONAL SOCIAL** ** **
> 
> ******FRIDAY** ** **
> 
> ******1/18/19** ** **
> 
> ******UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA SAN FRAN** ** **

_This is too easy,_ Steve thought as he tore down the page.

*

Steve hopped the BART and took the ride over to the campus. Host to parties, which meant it was a host to drugs, definitely pot, and copious amounts of alcohol. He was looking for the kids with the coding skills and the necessary tech to print out high quality items. 

Artists.

_Why does it always have to be the art students._

_*_

Steve stood by the printing room in the art building. The hasty drawn together sign stated closed, but the sounds stated otherwise. 

As he turned the knob of the door, he saw the two. 

They were just kids, well, nineteen years old, but kids nonetheless. 

“Hey sorry, man. Printers are down for assignments. I already put the ticket in to be fixed,” said one of them, not even making eye contact. 

“Not looking to print pages,” Steve said loud enough that the two of them sitting heard him, but not to have his voice echo down the hall. 

“Uh, I think you’re in the wrong place.”

“This isn’t where I get a fake? Or did I crash anther study session?” Steve’s tone turned a bit more serious.

“Shit,” the kid sitting behind the computer started to sink into his seat.

“Did...did Theta Sigma Theta set you up for this?” Kid A asked.

Steve sighed and locked the door. “No, but,” he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and shuffled through the multitudes of cards. “I think this organization might have.” 

His FBI ID flashed just long enough for install fear in the both of them. The kid sitting at the desk pushed away and held his hands up in defeat, while the other straightened up. 

“Oh, we are so screwed," Kid B muttered.

“So,” Steve looked around. Nikon attached to the Mac computer, attached to some cloud account, attached to some photoshop application. “How many IDs have you done today?”

“Six.”

“Ned _!”_  Kid A exclaimed immediately after. 

“What, Peter?! We’re in the presence of an FBI  _agent_.”

“Dude, don’t tell me you haven’t seen an episode of  _Law and Order?”_

 _“_ I only know that show because my mom used to watch it at three A.M. and it kept me up at night. What, do you know the show like the back of your hand?”

“Yeah, my Aunt May and I would watch it during dinner.”

“Dude, it can be pretty gruesome, how-”

Steve cleared his throat, to get everyone’s attention back. “How much do you get for each I.D.?”

"Fifty bucks.”

“It helps pays for the textbooks,” Peter added.

Steve sighed. “Is that six IDs a day?”

“Varies,” Ned said.

“Are we getting arrested or waiting for us to divulge our whole market plan like Shark Tank?” Peter asked blatantly.  

“This is a federal crime,” Steve said, with no response, “and can end you up in prison for up to ten years.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah,  _shit_  is right.”

They all stood in place.

“So,” Peter started to say, “are you going to arrest us?”

Steve sighed. “No.”

“I need a new pair of pants,” Ned said, unprovoked, and Peter grimaced. 

“I need a fake ID for...reasons I can’t quite explain. I’ll pay your rate, if you still want to go about this.”

“So,” Peter started, “Some guy who happens to be a federal agent needs a fake from two outcasted students?”

“Yes.”

“Fine by me,” Ned said.

“No,” Peter answered. 

“I’m not going to arrest you,” Steve sighed. Peter looked at Steve in disbelief, and Steve rolled his eyes. “No wires anywhere” Steve pulled his collar down to expose his bare collarbone, and placed his phone down further away from him, “and no way to contact anyone.”

The two kids stared back at him.

“I promise on my mom’s grave,” Steve said as he placed the money by the closet table. 

Ned looked at Peter. “I mean you just don’t swear on.. _that_.”

Peter sighed. “Get on the stool.” He clicked his camera and flinched, waiting for the barricade of police forces to come running through the door. 

But nothing came. 

“See?” Steve said. 

“Anything in particular you would like?”

“Name is Grant Rogers, born seven-four-nineteen-eighty-eight. Californian resident.”

Ned typed, and clicked around on the computer, and five minutes later the printer started to warm up, and spat out the license. Steve looked at it, flipped it around and flicked it. 

“This is good work. Scary good work,” Steve sighed. “I am giving you the biggest break,” he gathered his things. “Delete photoshop, erase your cloud, and don’t get others in trouble.” He unlocked the door and opened it to the hallway. “Thank you, and I don’t want to see the both of you again.”

“Yes, sir,” the two students said in unison.

*


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 7: Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All rights belong to Marvel.

It took Steve well into the night to make sure the documents he created looked feasible. It wasn’t perfect, and Steve knew that going in, he just knew there were small imperfections the Art Department at headquarters would have bugged him about.

He printed the pages up. Everything matched up. Name, birthday, high school, city of origin, type of car, the works. Steve didn’t want to upload any servers just yet, as uploading it from a source outside of Ohio or out of the city, and well illegally accessing a government database via some small library in California  _might_  look sketchy. Steve wanted to hand the manager the papers, get it over with but it would cause more suspicions. 

Scott.

Scott or...or somebody Scott knew could upload the paperwork. 

Steve had until eleven A.M. He had two or so hours from essentially eight in the morning, hoping that his company was open, to traveling back and heading to Toallards. 

Steve sighed. He got up at five  for months regularly before everything...happened. He could get up again, wait outside, and knock on the door like he just happened to get off the subway. 

He stashed the documents in a stolen folder from the front desk and walked out of the library. 

*

Steve set his alarm to wake up early, sat down on his bed, and sighed. He felt the weight of his worries leave his body. 

Steps. 

He was taking steps. 

*

Steve woke to the blaring alarm and peeled his head from the spit stained pillow. He dug through his bag for a fresh pair of clothes. 

 _Laundry,_ Steve thought as he pulled out a pair of jeans and his only white shirt that he managed to stuff back in D.C. He tied his sneakers and zipped up his jacket before stepping out of his room. Steve searched Google for Scott’s business address and took his time to watch the sun rise of his temporary home.

*

Steve sat on the steps across the street from Scott’s business, sipping on his small cup of coffee. 

He missed those cappuccinos, he missed the  _idea_ of the cappuccinos and well, he missed the person he -

Steve’s thoughts stopped short as soon as he saw the one person he was looking for opened his doors, right as the clock struck 8am. 

Right on time.

*

Steve stood in front of the door and sight. 

Grant Rogers.

He turned his hat around, rolling his eyes internally at the person he created, and knocked on the door. Scott opened it, coffee in hand, and bagel in another. 

“Mornin’! Early bird gets the word, huh?”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows. “Scott Lang?”

“The one and only.”

“Grant Rogers. We met on the train...?”

“Movie man!” Scott yelled in excitement. “Come in,” he motioned with his bagel, before taking a bite out of it. “Coffee?”

“Had some already. Thanks, though.”

“So, what brings you here?”

Steve sighed. “I was hoping you can help me, or...point me in some direction.” Scott sat down at his desk, quiet, letting Steve speak.

“You got the cops on your tail?” A man with the desk name plate as Luis stuck his head out from his computer. 

“Oh, shit you got the feds on you?!” Another man named Dave asked.

“ _No_ ,” Steve practically jumped to his words. “No.” 

“Man,” Luis sighed, “that would have been fun.”

“I need to know if someone could upload these to their proper databases,” Steve cleared his throat. “They somehow got deleted.” 

“Huh,” Scott just said. “Good thing we have Kurt.”

“Who?”

“That is me,” Kurt’s accent filled the air.

“Kurt here spent a nickel in Folsom for hacking and compute issues,” Scott explained.

“Computer issues?” Steve asked.

“Virus. Big Virus,” Kurt said tightly. Steve nodded his head, and became quiet. He couldn’t do this, he could ask for reformed prisoners to do this.  _This, all of this_  was illegal. The ID. The...the....

“I can’t ask you to do this. I’m sorry. This was a mistake,” Steve shoved his documents back into the folder, and walked back to the door. He had his hand on the handle before Scott interjected.

“Hey,” Scott tried to stop him. “ _Grant.”_ Steve paused, before walking out. “Why do you need this done?”

Steve released the tension in his back, almost dejected. “I need a job.”

“Not that many stunt jobs up in NoCal?”

Steve just let his head rest against the glass door. “Didn’t think it had. I - I only graduated from high school and just liked to jump off shit. Didn’t know what else to do.”

“So you just kept jumpin’ off shit...just safely?” Dave interjected. 

“Uh, yeah. But, I need to do more that just be this weird thing LA has made me into.”

“So,” Kurt leaned back into his chair and cradled his head with his hands. “the documents are just because they got deleted or something?”

“Yeah,” Steve bit his lower lip. “I managed to still have them before ‘The Great Move’ as I like to call it. I tried to access them from the library last night and they weren’t...anywhere.”

“So what are we talking about?”

“High school record, car record, police record -” Steve was cut off.

“Did you do a backflip or some shit off of some cop’s car?” Luis laughed.

“Punched a guy in the face for being a dick,” Steve recalled the memory during some late night visit to a dive bar in Baltimore. “Anyway,” Steve huffed, “Last one is my acting resume. Nothing on IMDb.”

“Kurt, it’s up to you, buddy,” Scott said.

“We’re security consultants. We’re consulting him that me doing this is the best, and easiest option. This stuff?” Kurt pointed to Steve’s folder, “Child’s play.”

Steve smirked. 

“Give me thirty minutes.”

*

True to his word, Kurt hit the enter button as the clock struck eight forty-five. 

“How much do I owe you?” Steve put the folder underneath his arm. Scott scratched the back of his neck. 

“Uh,” Scott sighed. “How about nothing?”

“No, I couldn’t-”

“You talked to me on a train for what - six hours? And you trusted me? Even after I told you my affiliations,” Scot took a sip of his coffee. “‘Least you can do is just spread the word.”

Steve smiled and gave a mock salute. “Thank you, and thank you Kurt.”

“Good luck with the job.”

“I’ll need it,” Steve smiled and gave Scott a handshake. He scribbled his phone number on a post it note and stuck it on Scott’s desk. “If you ever need an ex-stuntman.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Scott held up the note before tapping the number into his phone. Steve left X-Con, hearing muffled words of the four them discussing Grant’s resume. 

“ _Damn, he was in John Wick? Fuckin’ loved that one.”_

Steve smiled.

*

Tollards Ristourante was big for the Bay area. They probably had fifteen tables plus twenty bar seats, and just from looking at the menu - it seemed trendy and inclusive enough to have a pretty decent following. He’d better find some yellow gloves. 

Steve opened up the door and admired the atmosphere. Light and breezy. He could imagine the people there laughing as they sipped wine, letting their fingers brush lightly as the rester their hands on the table. Licking lips, gently as they looked at the menu, clearly thinking of something else -

“Grant? Grant Rogers?” The man Steve assumed that was Phil asked, as he walked from a hidden door. 

“Yeah,” Steve cleared his throat. “I mean, yes, that’s me,” Steve stuck out his hand. 

“Wow, you’re tall,” Phil stated. “Nice to meet you. I’m Phil, manager here at this place.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“You as well,” Phil sighed. “Let’s walk and talk,” He waved Steve along and Steve followed as he started to move. “Our last hire was a student but got a hob with one of the latest tech groups in Silicon Valley,” Phil led him through a few doors and into a busy kitchen. “Your station will be by the back...by the pile of dirty plates already?!” Phil huffed. “Guys, it’s not even  _lunch.”_

“-and  it takes twenty pans and plates to prep for your menu,” a woman with her hair in a tight bun and a pristine chef’s jacket said as she stirred something nondescript. She looked over at the two of them. “Who’s mister military?”

“Our new dishwasher.”

“Melinda - head chef. Call me May.”

“Nice to meet you,” Steve said as he gave a short wave. May just nodded in return, with a tight smile, and turned her attention back to the sauce pan.

“Alright, follow me,” Phil walked walked around Steve and led him through to the back of the kitchen. He reached for the apron that was resting on the hook and handed him the stained fabric as well as some yellow gloves. “Call this your probationary period. We have a break from three to five, and kitchen closes around nine, generally. Lunch shift is four hours, dinner shift is five,” Phil sighed. “Welcome to the team, Rogers. We will have your background check completed by tomorrow. Let’s see how you clean those dishes today.”

“Thank you,” Steve put the apron over his head, and gloves on. Phil muttered something about needed to check on the menu with May, but to just ask if any questions before he ran off to somewhere in the place. He took a deep breath, and watched a cook drop off another plate in the large metal sink.

Steve began scrubbing, and started Grant’s new resume.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 4 to Day 5: Bucky

Bucky woke up from a deep sleep. No alarm, no weird knocks on his door. 

Silence.

Peace.

Bucky stretched out on the bed, letting the fabric slide underneath him. He had to get outside. He had to get fresh air. 

He couldn’t repeat old habits. 

Bucky wanted to just enjoy the life he was going to build, enjoy the anonymity, but right now he couldn’t - at least not looking the way he did now. He had been lucky when he escaped. Thankfully most news outlets didn’t plot his escape, and not many people - or even the media knew - he even existed. Bucky could, ostensibly, walk outside with no issue. However, he couldn’t take the risk. 

Bucky signed, and rolled out of his bed, and padded to his bag and moved his clothes around. 

In his initial run from the prison, Bucky stopped at a gas station three hundred miles out and two cars later. Before dropping off the second car behind the nondescript gas station, he managed to scrounge together around ten dollars. It was enough for snacks, and few helpful items, like a small travel toothbrush and paste, some snacks, a bottle of water, and a cheap travel shaver. He came up short, but the clerk waved the fee. 

Bucky took the shaver from his bag and went to the bathroom. He looked in the mirror. 

No condensation to wipe away, just his ragged face. He closed his eyes. Bucky looked like a killer, murderer, a bringer of death. He closed his eyes tighter, and started to grip the granite countertop, and felt it start to crumble under his metal arm. 

Bucky’s breathing quickened, and opened his eyes. All he could see was blood. All over his face, splattering onto his chest, down his arms and curling around his fingers. Bucky looking at himself, tried to wipe away the blood that wasn’t really there, and walked back, until he hit the bed at his knees. The shock from the small fall brought Bucky back to reality. He brought his flesh arm to the bridge of his nose and pinched it, and let out a deep sigh. 

After a few minutes, he got back up and went back to the sink. The blood wasn’t there. 

It hasn’t been there.

It hadn’t been there in a long time.

Bucky ran a hand through his thick hair. He needed more than just his small shaver. He placed the small plastic shaver back into his bag, put on some clothes, enough to hide the things he wanted to hide, made sure to place his hotel key in his back pocket and lean against the door, hearing the squeaking of the wheels from housekeeping moving from room to room. 

_Objective_ , Bucky thought. He immediately ran a hand over his face and sighed in frustration. _No. What do I have to do?_

It was more of a statement. 

_Scissors_. He needed to find scissors, and something a bit more durable to get rid of the mess of hair. 

He was in a hotel, after all. 

_So,_ Bucky thought. _Scissors, some random person’s electric razor, easy enough._

He opened up his door and walked down the hall towards the housekeeping cart. He could see the two white keys attached to the back of the trolley, and a bright pair of red handle scissors poking out from the side pocket. As he walked closer, Bucky lifted the card and scissors, placing it in his long sleeve right by his arm. He glanced inside the open room to see the housekeeper fluffing pillows. 

Bucky kept walking until he reached the elevator, and pressed the button to go up. He let the elevator open on it’s own accord -

“ _The elevator is stuck,” Bucky said over his comm to...somebody._

_“Get the fuck out, then,” the deep voice returned. “Not that difficult to understand.”_

_“I’m not a fucking idiot,” Bucky mumbled._

_“What did you say?”_

_“I’ll find a way,” he responded sighing, and looking up into the ceiling. There, Bucky thought, a hatch._

_“That’s what I thought you said.”_

Bucky shook the memory out of his head, realizing idly walked over to the vending machine without much thought. He was going to wait here, until someone walked out of their room. 

*

It had been five minutes, but it felt too long. He could only stare at the deflated bag of Doritos for so long before giving up.

Thankfully he heard a door open up, and started to walk towards the noise. He passed by the couple, unassumingly, and tapped the keycard to the door, and walked right into their room. It was a huge chance that one of them would even bring an electric hair razor, and only crossed his fingers. 

He took a hard right turn into their bathroom. Sure enough, the black razor was sitting on the side of the similar granite tabletop. Bucky swiped it, intending to bring it back once finished. 

*

The house keeper was still shuffling her cart along the hallway when Bucky got back to his room. She spent ten minutes per room, and had done five already. There were at least twelve in the whole hallway, so Bucky had, on average, an hour to return the scissors and key card.

He could do this.

He could look into the mirror and face himself. He could face the memories of blood. 

Bucky took a deep sigh before depositing the scissors and razor onto the sink. He made sure that he was able to place a trash bag over the area where he stood. Bucky wasn’t looking to get caught based on DNA evidence. 

Bucky grabbed the scissors and wanted to just get it over with. The quicker he was here, the less time he had to look in the mirror. He started snipping the long pieces of hair to a finger width away from his scalp. Bucky watched the long strands fall onto the white plastic. Each strand cut was a release. He wasn’t sure what from, as he was just digging yet another hole for himself. 

It took five minutes of the meticulous cutting, but as Bucky stood in his own hair, he started to see someone else in the mirror.

He plugged in the razor, with the sound of soft buzzing filling the empty bathroom. Bucky started with his neck, letting the vibrations seep into his throat, almost feeling like if it was sharp enough he could - _like the time he was in Bucharest those years ago. The blade of the knife slide oh so delicately over his thumb, silently wishing a fingerprint was there to catch the blade each time, waiting for his target to move closer so he could press it in to their skin and let the blood pour out_ \- Bucky immediately shut of the device off and let go of it immediately.  

The razor dangled from the cord and swung back and forth, lightly hitting the wall each time. 

Two more minutes. 

It was only two more minutes. 

He needed to think of things to not let himself slip back into the past. 

Bucky wanted someone to be there with him, but he also knew he was stronger than that. He could do this on his own. He could, but - _wanted_ \- those strong hands at his side. The hands that gripped the paintbrushes tightly as he used the small flick of the wrist to get the perfect shading, grounding him in reality. 

Bucky dragged his hand over his head, and sighed. He turned the electric razor back on, and dragged the device back over the rest of his neck, quickly, hoping his thoughts would quiet. He thought that if he was the one helping, Bucky wouldn’t have to close his eyes so tightly. That his green - _blue. Blue eyes. The green ones weren’t real._ \- eyes would let him focus. That things were in control. 

Bucky continued to shave up on his cheeks, getting rid of the scraggly black beard that started to move in every which direction, only to stop by his chin and upper lip. He left himself a . Bucky hated it. It wasn’t him.  

He continued to shave the sides of his head, but left a short mop of hair on top. Memories started to tumble back, and Bucky immediately shut off the razor.

No more. 

*

Bucky returned the razor back to the room’s bathroom, in it’s proper position, laying it down gently, with the cord wrapped itself. Back on his floor, the house keeper moved to the end of the hallway, and he could only think of one solution to give the items back. 

Bucky sighed.

“Ma’am?” Bucky took the key card and scissors in his flesh hand, and started to walk down. The housekeeper poked her head from the open door way. “A couple of things dropped from your cart,” he started to trot towards her. 

“Oh!” She placed whatever she was holding on the floor, before meeting Bucky in the middle. “Thank you, sir. We wouldn’t want those ending up in the wrong hands.”

“We sure wouldn’t.”

*

Bucky returned to his room and gathered up the plastic bags littered with hair and placed it into a new bag. He would have to find a way to incinerate it, but that would have to be at another time. 

Bucky needed to get out of the room.

He needed a drink.

*

Bucky swirled the last of his beer, as he leaned over on the bar. He still wore his long sleeve shirt, covering most of his metal arm. Not many people talked about it.

An unspoken rule.

“You want another one?” The bartender leaned up against the back of the bar. 

“Uh,” Bucky swirled the bottle one more time, and took the last sip of the bottle. “Why not.”

The bartender uncapped a bottle, and placed it in front of Bucky. “You good?”

“Yeah, just been a long day.”

“This why you’re here at 2pm?.”

Bucky hummed in response and just kept his hand below the bar. He didn’t want to raise any more suspicions, than a random guy drinking alone on a Monday afternoon. The television played softly in the background. Every so often the local news reports would talk loudly about the recent explosion in the forest, and his grip would tighten slightly.

The intermittent news reports did help to dispel the stale silence. He welcomed it in the morning, but needed the white noise.

*

The door creaked, but Bucky kept his eyes forward.

“Hey Carol,” the bartender greeted the patron.

“Hey Dennis,” the person - Carol - replied.

“How goes it?”

All she replied with was a loud sigh.

“A vodka afternoon bad, or a beer afternoon bad?”

“Not a vodka afternoon, thankfully,” Bucky heard the chair at other end of the bar pull against the wood flooring, “but this one guy tried to argue that his car didn’t have a carburetor. A carburetor.” Bucky finally looked up and saw a woman in a blue work jumpsuit, sitting down as she pulled her blonde hair out of a ponytail. “So, a beer afternoon. To be quite honest, not one of the worst customers I’ve had. Granted I shoved the carburetor in his face. Literally. The thing was disgusting.”

“I don’t know how you deal with those pricks.”

“Me either, Dennis,” she sighed. The bartender uncapped a bottle. “How’s the garage otherwise?”

“Busy.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

Carol leaned back in her chair, beer in hand. “Yeah, but I’m swamped. Fixed four cars by myself today, and still have two left over for tomorrow. I’ve been in the garage since six in the morning. Don’t even get me started on the past few days. It’s like everyone has an issue with their car. Chewie hates me.”

“I doubt she hates you.”

“That cat sits on my chest and meows at me at three in the morning.”

“She probably hates you.”

Carol chuckled, and looked over to Bucky. “Do you think my cat hates me?”

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows. “No, I - uh,” Bucky took a deep breath. “Well, maybe. Maybe it’s cat dementia.”

“Cat dementia,” Carol deadpanned. 

“Yeah it’s a thing. My cat back in Broo-” Bucky caught himself. “Brookside. She was a good one, but by the end of her life she was irritable, couldn’t sleep, was just a crabby, furry thing.” 

“How old was the cat?”

“By the time she died, she was,” Bucky remembered crumpling the letter in his hand while he was at basecamp. He grew up with her. Always curling up while watching T.V. Meowing at the empty bowl even though she was fed not five minutes ago. When Bucky cried, that would always purr softly, keeping a small hum present when he was quiet. 

His parents brought her over to Germany, when they moved It was tough for her as she kept him up late at night - not quite adjusting to the time zones. Right before Bucky left for enlistment, he pat the cat’s back for hours just trying to delay his departure.

“ _I’ll see you when I come back,”_ Bucky remembers saying to the calico, scratching the underside of her chin.

“Hey,” Carol stated, getting his attention.

“What?”

“How old was your cat, when she passed?”

“Twenty, so,” Bucky sighed, “human years she was 96.”

“Sorry about that.”

“She was old.”

“You zoned out there for a bit.”

“What?” Bucky questioned.

“There was a minute of silence between you telling me the cat’s age.”

“Well,” Bucky downed the rest of his beer, started to get up and reach for his wallet, pulled out enough for a tab and tip, and started to walk out of the bar, “She got old and now she’s dead.” He heard Carol say that she’d be right back to Dennis the bartender who kept watching. 

“Hey!” Carol shouted to Bucky.

“I’m not okay right now. Please leave me alone,” Bucky shoved his arm into his jacket. 

“I was overseas too,” Carol stated which made Bucky stop in his tracks. “A Captain, actually.”

“Bucky dropped his head and turned around. She was only a few feet from the outside door at the bar.

“That easy to read, huh.”  _She’s good,_  Bucky thought.

“No. You look like every shitty dude here in this small town, but most people don’t take a minute to continue their sentence. You see that in a certain person, and I’ve seen it a lot. Even myself,” Carol explained, and Bucky looked away. “How long since you been back?”

“Lost count,” It wasn’t a lie. 

“Got any family?”

“Dad’s dead, and Mom’s in a nursing home.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Bucky repeated and turned around to walk back to the hotel. 

“How do you fix a dent in car after a slight fender-bender?”

Bucky turned around again. A test. He had done this multiple times on the field, making sure it looked like his target’s car wasn’t mistakenly kneed in while pointing the barrel of the gun threw the windshield. “Everything from a hammer and dolly to a dent puller.”

“Do you know how to change a car’s oil?”

“Easy stuff.”

“Do you know what a carburetor is?”

“Only thing that keeps your car working.”

“Six-forty-five Locust Street. Seven-fifteen tomorrow morning,” Carol started to turn around and head back into the bar, “Let’s see how well you can change a tire.”

*

Bucky watched the clock change over to 6:00, and promptly shut off the alarm.

There were a few things he could get around, but having no proper identifiers, was going to be difficult to get around when filling out a forms and….well, living. 

He didn’t even tell Carol his fake name, so he had at least - Bucky looked at the clock - an hour to mold things together, to an extent. Bucky peeled the covers off of his body and begrudgingly got out of his bed.

It reminded him of the runs with Stephen -  _Steve_ - when he somehow wanted to get up at dawn and run around Falls Church. Bucky flipped the light on in the bathroom, and started to draw a bath.

He didn’t want to start this day with a reminder.

*

Bucky, after washing up, pulled out another black long sleeve shirt and jeans. He would have to find a block glove to complete hiding his arm.

It only brought more questions.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, that wasn’t there any more, almost shocked that the long hair wasn’t there anymore.

Benjamin.

He needed something common. He needed to disappear more.

Williams.

Benjamin Williams.

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. It sounded so incredibly fake to him, however, maybe that’s how it could get around the red flags that people might raise.

Ben, say Ben first, Bucky thought. Better.

He shrugged on his jacket and walked out of the door, and out of the hotel. The walk wasn’t bad - a random local helped him draw the best route on his physical map from point A to point B. The weather was thankfully a little warmer than usual, so he was able to be somewhat okay with the clothes he was wearing. Bucky walked by a empty shopping plaza. He saw a group of painters slowly and meticulously rolling the paint onto the building, standing on the ladders.

Bucky took a detour. Walking near the small group of painters, he noticed a pair of gloves thin gloves, resting on a cooler.

Convenient, Bucky thought. Making like he was trying to see if the pharmacy was open, he swiped the gloves and stashed them in his pocket, before looking into the closed window.

“It’s not open until eight,” one of the painters shouted from above. Bucky looked up at the guy and scratched the back of his neck.

“Ah, shit. Thanks.”

“No problem, buddy,” Bucky heard the painter say as he started to walk away, gloves still stowed in his pocket.

*

Danvers’ Auto Shop was big enough for one vehicle at a time, maybe two if the other car was small, or meticulously squeezed in. The property, however, was large. Four cars were parked by the broken down fence, and left room for a tow truck to be parked an unloaded. Bucky knocked on the wooden office door, and waited. 

He almost felt like he was back in high school.

Almost. 

Carol opened up the door - grease on her face and clothes, and hair in a bun. "Didn't think you would be here, honestly."

"Me either," Bucky responded. 

"Well, I'm glad. Come on in," Carol said as she led him inside, and immediately opened up another. "We can do the paperwork after. We have some cars for you to help with." 

*

"So," Carol said as she adjusted her work jumpsuit, "Flat tire for the Prius. We generally recommend Bridgestone. Cheap, but not cheap enough that'll pop as soon as the car gets moving. It was ordered a day or so ago, and the shipment came in yesterday at two. As soon as someone calls in for a flat, try to order as soon as possible. I created a spread sheet that you can find in the office for different cars and their price ranges," Carol handed Bucky a clipboard. 

"This is really detailed." 

"There's a wide assortment of cars that pass through here. On the interstate, there have been about, on average, five construction or work trucks that pass by every hour or so. Nails, debris, you name it falls on the road, causes accidents, puncture tires, whatever. This clipboard essentially tracks car make an model that I have either encountered or learned for the best tire for the car. Plus price. Everyone wants to know price."

Bucky flipped through the stack of pages. Cars upon cars were typed up next to dollar signs upon dollar signs. It reminded him of something but couldn't quite put a finger on it, not that he wanted to anyway. 

"Hey, military man - breathe," Carol took the clipboard away from him. "Breathe. Just breathe." Bucky complied. "I'm going to get the car, you grab the tire. The owner is coming in three two hours to pick it up." 

Carol left to pull the car into the garage, and Bucky used his metal arm to pick up the tire like it was a bag of feathers.

*

Carol watched Bucky from the corner of her eye, as she adjusted some part of some car's engine. The tire replacement was easy - only taking about forty-five mintutes to get the lug-nuts secured. Bucky got up from the ground and look a look at the car.  

"It's done?" Carol asked from outside.

"Yeah," Bucky sighed. "It's done." Carol checked the tightness, before re-snapping the hubcap back on. Carol threw him the keys. 

"Tightness is good. Drive it around and see how it feels." 

Bucky caught them, and fiddled with the keys with his covered hand.

*

Bucky pulled the car out of the lot and let the car glide. No wobble, no bumps coming from the car. Bucky turned the corner and saw a straight road ahead. He floored the gas peddle and drove. 

He could keep driving. Start all over again for what felt like the sixtieth time. Bucky's grip tightened. 

Or.

Or. 

He could keep hanging low. Keep the Ben Williams schtick going for a while longer...waiting for no one in particular. Bucky slammed on the breaks, happy that barely anyone was on the road. 

Back to the auto-shop. 

*

Bucky put the car in park and threw the keys back to Carol. "It runs like a dream."

"Well, all new cars will have to have their prices adjusted," Carol said as she pocketed the keys. 

"Why's that?"

"You. Minimum wage, forty hours a week shifts from seven to two. Sunday's off. Seven to two. You're quick, efficiant, and didn't steal the car. How about it?"

_Get out._

_You're becoming too comfortable._

_You're going to slip._

_You'll be-_

"I'll take it. Thank you," Bucky smiled. 

"Great. Help me with this truck please, and for the love of God, before we figure out all of the payment details, please tell me your name."

Bucky chuckled. "It's Ben.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved that they had Carol's cat named Chewie in the comics, so we're going with that.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 10 to Day 20: Steve

Steve scrubbed at the caked in sauce pan that was at the bottom of the sink. Lunch orders finished up twenty minutes ago, and he was only waiting for the last of the diners to scrape their plates clean and have the busser deliver it back.

May walked over to Steve, taking off her chef's cap, letting her hair drop. "I can't believe how many people ordered the lunch special today. It was practically just marinated chicken." 

" _Good tasting_ marinated chicken," Steve replied.  

"You're too nice, Grant." 

"Only telling the truth." 

May playfully shoved him. "How's the past first few days been?" 

Steve set and took his gloves off. "Good. I'm just trying to get the schedule down." 

"It's only your third day." 

'"True, true," Steve leaned up against the sink. 

"You're good though - you don't have to stress yourself over it," May smiled. "You've been caught up by the lunch shift every time, save a few here and there. Don't beat yourself up over it," May smiled.  

"It's thanks to your amazing food that I don't have to do much work. Most plates come back empty." 

"Now you're just sucking up to me, Rogers," they both chuckled. "But, thank you." 

The busser placed the rest of the plates in the large metal sink, with a small sorry, before scurrying off to the front of the restaurant.  

"He always says sorry after he places more plates. It's my job," Steve sighed. 

"He's probably scared of you. and probably thinks you're going to beat him up," May leaned into the joke. 

"No, I doubt it." 

"Rogers, you used to throw fake punches for a living." 

Steve picked up the deposited plate and started to scrub, only shrugging in response. "They were fake. Nothing real." 

"Touché," May took a deep sigh. "Okay, I'm taking a thirty-minute break before I'm in the kitchen again. I'll be back," May idly grabbed the closest phone to her, and Steve only recognized it was his before it was too late. She clicked open the phone and became wide-eyed.  "I'm so sorry, I picked up the wr-" She tried to apologize but her voice drifted off when Steve started to talk. 

"It's fine. It happens," he said has he pocked the phone.  

"Must have left it by my station. I'll be back by three-thirty. Come back by five and we'll get you scrubbing again," May leaned over and brought her voice down a level, so really only Steve could hear. "Your boyfriend is cute, Grant." 

He didn't want to lie. He didn't want to say anything.  

So, he didn't.  

Steve just gave her a tight smile, and went back to scrubbing the plates.  

*  

Steve caught himself wanting a cigarette. He never smoked - anything really - his whole life. His mother, and he as well, was always worried about the state of his health - especially his lungs - but after the experimental procedure, Steve was the ultimate breathing machine.  

Steve laughed at his thoughts, and pinched his nose. The want of the cigarette was always accompanied by avoidance - the avoidance of...whatever. Generally, if he were to smoke, it would give him those ten minutes not to think, not let anything get to his head. Avoid talking to whomever for that small space of time, before letting them know that their meeting 'slipped his mind'.  

Steve wanted to avoid the thoughts of Bucky. He was going to find him. To help him. In a way he promised himself to help. To find that fucking red journal that controls him, which could be his ticket out of here, but it was finding a needle in a haystack.  

A lost cause.  

Bucky had an advantage. He knows where those henchmen go to hide and cower.  He needed Bucky to _save Bucky_ , and all he had was some random explosion.  

"Why am I even doing this?" Steve muttered to himself.  

This is why he needed a cigarette. Because, Steve knew that his thoughts would spiral, and wanted to avoid that like the plague.  

* 

Steve walked around the neighborhood, catching as much sun as he could. If he was going to be in California for a limited time, he was going to soak it up. A consistent buzzing came from his phone in his back pocket. As he unlocked his phone, he saw the ten missed text messages. 

**u up for a job?**

**this is scott**

**lang**

**scott lang**

**security guy**

**we talked like three days ago about the paperwork stuff**

**;-)**

**winking face weird?**

**yeah, it's weird**

**hi**

Steve rolled his eyes. Security consult.  

_ hey scott  _

_ like an in-office position?  _

**more like out of office.**

**Club called for some security duty and detail.**

**We're going to be installing some cameras and**

**monitors for the back so the owner and manager**

**doesn't have to be on the floor always**

**but they're down a bouncer**

**can u bounce**

Steve hasn't been a bouncer since his first few months on the force. A local bar needed him for crowd control, intimidate a few assholes, and make sure they don't drink more shots than they need to. A little lying didn't hurt either.  

_it was my side job back in LA._

_ just needs to be off the books  _

**boom.**

**done.**

**next week, The Cafe 11pm**

**black shirt**

**jeans**

**sneakers**

_ putting it into my calendar now  _

_ thanks, scott.  _

**report to jake**

**just ask around for him**

**he's like a vampire**

**no, thank you**

Steve pocketed his phone, and turned around. More cash on the side wouldn't hurt. 

* 

The next week went by smoothly. More and more, Steve was getting the hang of the restaurant - when it got busy, when he was able to wait for dishes, and when he was able to leave. Sometimes he was still scrubbing at them, right as the kitchen shut down, before getting dragged out by May and Phil with them demanding he go home.  

The dining room was empty when the kitchen started to close up. Steve had already put in enough hours to satisfy his pay and costs for any bills and dinner for the next couple of days, as well as enough to put away for any expenses, so he was okay with his departure.  

Plus, he had a side job. 

A side, side job. 

He was still an employee of the Federal Bureau of Investigations and well. He was investigating.  

Sort of.  

He was also doing it because it payed him extra cash.  

Changing out of his now officially designated work white shirt, he put on the black shirt on and headed to the bar. He had enough time between the end of his shift and his side job to walk over to The Cafe and still be slightly early.   

Steve shrugged on his jacket, said his goodbyes, and headed out the door.  

* 

Steve could hear the music pumping from half a block down the road. He adjusted his shirt before going up to the other bouncer standing by the door.  

'Who are you?" 

"Grant." 

"Hm." 

"I'm looking for Jake?"  

"Okay." 

"I'm with X-Con?" 

"Oh!" The bouncer's demeanor changed immediately. "You're the cover for Luke?" 

'If that's what Scott agreed to, then yeah." 

"Great. The club is already starting to get full. Hold on let me see if there's someone that can check IDs for a minute," the bouncer headed inside quickly, which allowed Steve to see the line of people all waiting by the door. "Grant?" 

The original bouncer's head poked out of the room, as another bouncer with a small flashlight took his place. "Come with me." 

"I'm assuming you're Jake?" he asked as he followed the bouncer, through a small dark hallway into a brightly lit packed dance floor with heavy electronic beats filling the space. Men in speedos danced on platforms as people alike slipped dollar bills into their clothing. 

"Your assumption is correct. Nice to meet you," Jake stopped at a corner by where the bar and dance area changed over. "Your job until two is to make sure we don't have anyone having sex on the floor, no fights, no one touching the dancers except for cash tips, etcetera. We want people to have fun. Got it?" 

"Got it." 

"After two, when the club closes down, you can do whatever the fuck you want. Any bad shit goes down during your hours, Scott will be notified and we'll back out of the deal." 

"Understood. Just a cover for Luke tonight," Steve said with as much professionalism he could muster. The back of his mind he wondered what sort of contract Scott made up with the club owner, but he stepped back from his way as an agent and smiled lightly.  

Jake clapped him on the back and slid his hand into Steve's giving him some earplugs. "Any issues you know who to call," he said as he winked and headed back to the front of the building.  

For the next hour or so, Steve felt the vibrations of the music swell, watching the people let the music dictate their every move, the lights almost becoming a hypnotic feeling. Something that he hadn't felt in a long time. He saw that the music moved people into getting out their energy, letting the music wash away their problems. Steve settled back onto the wall, making sure the beats from the music moved up and down his spine. It was a release he needed, almost wishing he wasn't working so he could move with them. 

The music changed over, and the people changed with it. People moved passed Steve without worry, like he was just another person enjoying the night. Someone moved near him, that caught his eye. Same height, same hair, same build. Steve followed him through the club, following his uneven path. Steve put his hand on his shoulder - _ it’s not him -  _ and -

It wasn’t him. 

Even though, Steve kept telling himself that it wasn’t Bucky, he couldn’t help feel the disappointment.

The rest of the night ended up being easier, only pulling a couple people from the dance floor for being too handsy with the dancers, and breaking up one fight over by the bar before it escalated.  

When the club lights flicked on, Steve stayed by the back to make sure everybody's exit was easy and free flowing, making sure no extra fights were going to break out. When the last person left the club around two-thirty, a random man handed him an envelope.  

"Thank you for your time. Let Scott know his deal is continued. I'll contact the other clubs in the area for a good recommendation. His tech is top-notch; was able to catch anything that is everything, and for you - you did good. I will let Scott know if we need another backup. That's your pay." 

Steve gave, whom he assumed was the owner or manager, a handshake and considered the option. Easy money, and he had some skill. "Thank you. I'll give him a heads up if I'm free and you need someone. “ 

"Get some sleep." 

"Goodnight," Steve said lightly, as he walked out of the club. 

* 

The next day, as he was back in the kitchen with May and the rest of the staff, he received more texts from Scott.  

**bro!**

**thanks for last night**

**got good word from club owner**

**we got a deal with a few more places**

**for security reno**

**the owner said you did amazing**

**and said will contact me if he has an open**

**position for more bouncer duties**

**that ok with u?**

_glad to hear scott_

_thanks for thinking of me_

_yeah that's more than okay_

_ could always use the job  _

_ thank you again  _

* 

A day later, Steve found himself at the club, but as a patron. He didn't intend to head to the club, but alas his feet took him there nonetheless. As he waited in line, Jake spotted him and waved him up.  

"Grant! What's up?! You here for another shift?" 

Steve just laughed. "No, here as a patron." 

"Fuck, man why did you wait in line then?" 

"Didn't know the proper procedure." 

"Bro, you're family here. You helped break up that fight between those two guys. I think they almost broke each other's noses." 

"With the amount of blood that was on the bar, you would think they did," Steve offered.  

Jake laughed. "God, that shit was nasty," he sighed. "Look. You're family now. If you want to go in, see me first. Have a good night, and don't touch the dancers other than to give them some tips," Jake winked and let Steve on by.  

The music was loud, and practically made the whole building shake, but it's what Steve needed. Needed and wanted and everything in between. Steve skipped the bar, knowing that if he started, it wouldn't be fun getting up for work the next day. The floor was crowded, as they all moved to the beat of the music. Steve took a deep breath and followed suit. Lights flashed in sync to the music, as he felt male eyes land on him.  

Steve turned around and saw a flash of brown hair, height the same, and a similar build, and connected eyes with him. 

_ It’s not him,  _ Steve reminded himself _.  _

Steve walked towards the man and came up as close as the other man wanted. He was practically eye level with him.  

"Saw you here a couple days ago - were you the bouncer who...?" the man asked into Steve's ear trying to get his voice over the music. 

"I was," Steve yelled over.  “Sorry about that, thought you were someone else.”

"Well, you’re here now," the man breathed out. "How about we-" 

"Let's dance. I just need your name first." 

"Please, with a body like yours, you can call me whatever you fuckin' like." 

"What do you want to be called," Steve leaned his body into the other man's and whispered hard into his ear "Because, if I want to scream your name tonight, I sure hope to God that I get it right." 

"It's Mike," he practically panted, and curved his lips into a smile. Steve moved his hand down the man's torso, stopping at his waist, pulling him in so their bodies were touching. Mike draped his hand over Steve's shoulder and brought them together even closer.  

It was an hour of dancing closely to the beats that the club offered. When the song ended, Mike grabbed Steve's hand and led him out the back door.  The rush of cold air felt good on Steve's sweaty body, and welcomed the change of atmosphere. 

"You want to get out of here?" Mike asked.  

"Yeah," Steve licked his lips. It's not him. "Yeah, _fuck_ ," he took a deep breath as he followed Mike to the front of the building and hailed a cab.  

* 

He followed Mike into his room, somewhere in San Francisco. The ride wasn't long, but long enough that it made both antsy to get their hands on each other as soon as the cab was put in park.  

His room was made up of one large bed, a dresser, and a computer thrown by the window.  

"Are you a light on or off type of guy?" Mike asked.  

"Off," Steve replied, and Mike hummed in approval. He placed his hand on Steve's hip and stepped close enough to bring his face close to Steve's. He closed the distance and gave him a deep kiss, letting his moans resonate deep in his throat. Steve brought his hands underneath Mike's shirt, feeling the toned body underneath, and bringing up the shirt over Mike's head, only breaking the kiss when the fabric passed between them.  

As Mike sat on the bed, he unbuckled his belt and removed his jeans, and Steve did the same. Mike lay on the bed, and Steve crawled on top of him, kissing him deeply, before his lips traveling down to Mike's collar bone. Steve sucked at his skin making sure it was going to leave a bruise.  

"Your body is insane," Steve breathed out. 

"I could say the same about yours," Mike replied. 

"Crossfit." Steve only hummed in response as Mike's hand traveled lightly down Steve's torso, waiting for a sign of consent.  

"Can I -" 

"Yes, absolutely," Steve enthusiastically replied. Mike flipped them both over so Steve's back was on the other man's bed. Mike slowly kissed his way down Steve's torso, before Mike lifted Steve's underwear over his hardening cock. Without hesitation, Mike took him wholly into his mouth. Steve practically arched his back from pleasure and kept his hand lightly over Mike's head, feeling his hair between his fingers. Steve closed his eyes, letting his mind travel as the warm wetness encapsulated his body. Nerves were firing off every which way, as he felt a low warmth starting to pool in his abdomen. Mike took his hand and cupped Steve's balls, squeezing them lightly every time he reached the tip, and moved his hand, resting gently on top of Steve’ thigh, making sure that there was every ounce of physical contact. 

Mike increased his speed, taking Steve deeper. Steve imagined someone else. Same build _. Same height. Same hair. Different arm _ .  Steve's grunts became more vocal, as he let his hand drift to Mike’s cheek, feeling every muscle in his face work. Mike’s groan’s vibrated around Steve’s body, which caused him to buck his hips up. Steve opened his eyes and didn’t see his face, and just felt his skin. It reminded him of Falls Church, of all the times he held Bucky’s face. Of all the times he shared his bed with him. Of the times he kissed. Skin rippling over taught muscle, and hearing the slight mechanics of his metal arm. Steve’s hand returned to the top of Buc-  _ Mike’s  _ head, resting gently on top to feel the continual motion. 

“I’m gonna cum -” Steve breathed out as Mike continued to suck. The name was stuck on the tip of Steve's tongue and as the warm pool that resonated in his abdomen shot down Mike's throat, and the only thing Steve could think of was Bucky.  

He could only think of him, so much so as he felt Mike swallow around his dick, Steve could only breathe out one last thing. 

“ _ James _ .”  

* 

Steve spent a bit more time with Mike after. He offered to help him but was only met with words of "I came," and "was only looking to get someone off, really".  

Steve washed up, got changed, and headed back out the door. He let the cool air capture his body again, letting everything wash over him, as the early morning light breeze passed by him. Steve idly tapped in the hotel's address and followed the directions as he walked on by. A small notification filtered on the top of his screen. 

**SMALL FACILITY IN CENTRAL IDAHO BLOWS UP IN MYSTERY EXPLOSION**

**COULD IT BE CONNECTED WITH OREGON?**

Steve read the article as he walked. Something was off. _Something._

He tried to gather as much information about the explosion in the forest. It could be connected.  It very well could be. From a quick glance at the article, another facility in the dead center of a wood clearing, exploded without rhyme or reason. No one knew it was there, only learning of it when metal started falling and the loud sound of a possible grenade woke everyone up.  

Bucky didn't want to be found. He didn't want metal flying everywhere. He didn't want to be noticed.  

This explosion was too ostentatious to be Bucky.   

Whoever did this was an imposter. 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 20: Bucky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All rights belong to Marvel.

Fifteen days passed by. Thirteen days of fixing cars, and two days of sitting in his room at the hotel trying to stop the noises from the past intercept his future. Thankfully the hotel staff was okay with him paying at a weekly fee schedule. He earned enough and saved enough that he was able to call this small room a home. 

Carol practically saved his life. If not for the job, Bucky would have been skipping town again, probably heading down the West coast, still taking people's money. He felt proud of what he was doing. Proud of the fact that he was somehow managing to leave the old life of him behind. Carol had listed his job as an assistant, not a mechanic, when doing her booking. She understood that Ben Williams, after he came back from war, lost all of his things, like his phone, social security, every possible record, as well as his husband of ten years. 

She understood that Ben Williams forgot his information thanks to an IED explosion over seas, and that the VA system had failed him like every veteran in U.S., so she paid him off the books. 

It worried Bucky, honestly. He didn't want her to do something illegal for the sake of him. He didn't want her to go away. 

Bucky considered her a friend.

His only friend. 

Carol only waved him off, saying that she had done this before, and her tax associate said that she was doing no wrong then, and is doing no wrong now. Bucky refused to accept the check, only until she took out the proper amount of taxes each check to be included with the statement, and to have her tax associate understand that this was the money to file in case of lost funds. 

 "Honestly, that makes no sense," Carol said as she re-wrote a new check with the money taken out, "but whatever makes you happy Ben."

 *

Carol knew he didn't have a phone either, and just would go along with it. She wasn't an idiot, and he suspected something was up. Earlier in the day, she casually mentioned that she would be going to the bar that night - _"The one where we met, you know. Dennis was there serving you shit beer."_ \- which meant that she wanted to hang out. He didn't pick up on her responses the first time, and got multiple dirty rags to the face as soon as he walked into the shop. 

He reminded himself that if he didn't want to start the day with a face full of grease. 

*

Bucky got out of the hotel and started to walk down to the bar. However, he took a detour. Stopping at the local shopping center, he checked out their electronics store. He walked around and looked at the pay-as-you-go phones. He saw the slim screen, for a low-cost and picked it up, and chose the data plan that was enough only to talk to Carol, and use as much free WiFi Bucky could find. 

*

He entered the bar, and spotted Carol by the back. She waved him over with a glass of beer in her hand. 

"Ben! You made it," Carol said genuinely as Bucky walked over and sat down next to her. 

"I did," Bucky laughed. "You seemed surprised."

"I was just talking to Dennis how I feel as though you need to get out more."

"She was," Dennis chuckled.

"So protective," Bucky sarcastically replied. 

 "I only care about your mind...and spirit," Carol squinted. 

 "How many beers have you had tonight?"

 Carol held up her glass. "Half of one."

 "Huh," Bucky replied, "I guess I have to catch up," Bucky smiled, and took his phone out. "I finally got a new phone. Lost mine a couple of weeks ago, and I guess I just welcomed the silence." 

Carol swiped the phone and entered her number, and saved it. "Here, text me so I have your number." 

Bucky complied, and heard the familiar text tone on Carol's phone. 

"Perfect. Now I can bother you even outside of work."

"Just what I always wanted," Bucky chuckled. 

*

Bucky and Carol continued to talk as more people entered the bar. Evening tv switched over to the nightly news on the tv set. Carol leaned back in her chair and sighed. 

 "So, Ben," Carol started, and Bucky took another swig of his beer, "Tell me about your husband. If that's okay. I don't want to over step any boundaries or things you don't want to talk about -"

"Carol," Bucky cut her off. "It's - it's okay," Bucky stammered slightly. Her shoulders dropped, seeing the anxiety of something or other, going away. "He was," Bucky sighed. He always hated this part of hiding - the incessant need to be sharp constantly. You couldn't get too drunk because it would allow for something to slip, or words to become confused with each other.  He had observed the sighing, the stammering, the long pauses when talking to people as they talked of they dead. It's what they did - seeing the variance of dejection in people's faces and matching it up with how long their love ones had passed away. In a way it was mimicry, but also just another way to uphold feelings of respect out of their own love and admiration.

"I knew him since I was sixteen. I didn't know I really fell in love with him since my first tour. I was in a small firefight that seemed to only last a half an hour, but all I could think about was him. All I could think was _'How would he feel if I came home in a casket?_ '" Bucky took the glass by the rim and turned it around, letting the beer swish around in the cup. "I think that was the first moment, I realized that I wanted to be with him."

"What a shitty moment," Carol laughed, knowing Bucky would like the levity. 

Bucky chuckled. "It was. My buddy Jim saw me during one the moments I was sniping and I remember him telling me ' _Williams, you look like you have hearts in your eyes,_ ' and I remember shoving him away after I made another snipe. It was weird to have those moments of levity during times like those." 

"You had to make the most of the situation," Carol added.

"True," Bucky sighed. "Anyway, I came home after months in the desert  for the first time to Delaware. Sun blaring, music pumping, family crying from happiness, the works. I go to knock on his door, and he's not even there. He's at some bar down the road. I go there, and he's talking up some girl. Bright red lips, hair down to center of her back - really his type. I walk in casually and boom," Bucky snaps his fingers, "locks eyes with me. I swear I had this moment in my dreams. We lock eyes, I give a small wave and a smile. He tells something to the girl, and gives me the biggest hug I've ever received. Thought it lasted for hours," Bucky stopped talking, letting the chatter of the bar fill the space. "I was leaving again for training in Germany in three days. I had to tell him before I left. I had to tell him about what I thought."

We hung out constantly throughout those three days - practically attached to the hip. I couldn't muster up enough confidence to tell him everything throughout it. How much every time I thought of him that he felt like home, that he was the coolest ray of sunshine that I would find in the desert. Things that made me happy. He made me warm. He was a painter. A good one too. Always happy, and if he was sad, he did a damn fine job of managing his emotions. I was always jealous of that. The night before I left to Germany I told him I had some words to say to him, and he hesitantly obliged. We went to the local park at night. The lights were on and we just walked around in silence for what felt like eternity.  I tried to start up a conversation about...about something I don't really remember, but what I do remember is just stopping in the middle of the walk way and just quickly stated _'I love you'_. He stopped in front of me, turned around and kissed me," Bucky smiled during the fake memory. "We wrote a lot of letters during training, and kept my favorite in my inside uniform pocket. When I surprised my family for Thanksgiving, he proposed to me, to the surprise of almost no one - somehow it was this big open secret. Everyone was happy, I was happy...it was perfect."

 "But then it wasn't," Carol stated.

Bucky sighed and took a sip of his drink. "But, then it wasn't. I got discharged, honorably if I may add, and made a life. I couldn't really continue after the IED, medically and all. I tried to move on, but you know how it is. We got a house, made a home and I became an insomniac. Every time I closed my eyes I saw that night of the explosion over again. Thought I could fix it by myself. Thought that if I took walks, my brain would quiet down and everything would be magically fixed. I got out of bed, one day, and he kept whispering ' _come back_ ' and I just told him ' _Just one loop around the neighborhood. I'll be right back'_  and as I made the loop back to the house, half of it was up in flames," Bucky paused. "They say he died of smoke inhalation, and that he died in his sleep, and thats how I choose to know how he died. I remember him being a caring, gentle giant that was the best thing to - _ever_ \- happen to me."

 Carol smiled softly. "Thank you for sharing that, Ben."

 His fake name brought him back to the situation. The situation is that none of what he told her was true, and he had to remember it all. Bucky smiled softly, and took a drink of his beer. "I'll be right back. Just gotta get some air."

 "I'll be right here," Carol smiled. 

*

Bucky walked outside, zipping up his jacket when the cold air hit, and leaned against the wall. He thought back to the story - not all of it was fake, really. He really did think about someone during his time in the army, he just didn't realize at the time it was Steve, other than his family of course. He really did take a walk with Steve in the park, granted it was in Falls Church and it well, technically wasn't Steve. 

There were a bunch of what ifs. What if he knew Steve was alive? Would Bucky still be in this situation? Would Bucky even be alive? 

Bucky breathed out, watching the condensed air leave his body. There were a group of teenagers at the end of the ally loudly talking, and what Bucky felt as though, his time was being interrupted. 

"Did you hear about the explosion?" a kid with spiked hair asked as he drew in a drag of his cigarette. 

"Yeah, that shit happened like weeks ago," another kid tried to get the lighter going.

"No, no the new one."

"There was a new one?" The third teenager asked. That news was new to Bucky. 

"Yeah, another warehouse in the middle of nowhere."

Bucky got himself up from the wall, and started to walk over. "Hey!" Bucky should and the kids started to scramble. "Stop running, I'm not a narc, nor am I going to tell your parents. Can I bum a cigarette off you guys? I just ran out today. Don't feel like going to the store now."

The kids settled back into the position from moments ago. "Uh," the spiked haired teenager stated, and he pulled out his pack and a single cigarette, "here you go, man."

"Thanks," Bucky said as he put the stick in between his mouth. "So, where was this explosion?" he asked as he flicked the lighter on.

 "Idaho? It’s been on the news for the past few hours."

 "Cool," Bucky handed back the lighter and started to walk back over to his spot. "Don't do drugs," Bucky stated over his shoulder.

* 

Bucky finished his cigarette, flicked the butt of it on the ground, and walked back inside, Carol still there. 

"You good?" She asked softly. 

"Yeah," Bucky smiled. Bucky waved Dennis over, and with a new beer Dennis obliged. "Thanks. Quick question." 

"Shoot." Dennis replied.

"Is it possible to put on the news? I heard there was a new explosion." 

'Yeah, I think it was Idaho?" Dennis tried to remember as he fiddled with the remote. As soon as the television was on the bartender changed it to the local news.

Fuck, Bucky thought, I need the exact location.

" _Welcome back, I'm Stacey Trungel, this is Channel Twenty-Five News. We're bringing you the latest update in the new warehouse explosion case that just started just under a month ago. Here in Oregon a mysterious arsonist and possible domestic terrorist rattled the small city of Ash and one of our forests with the destruction of a hidden facility. Even after a month of trying to parse through the evidence of wasn't burned during the internal fire, nothing could be concluded. Now, we turn to our associates in Idaho have the story. Ken_?"

 _"Thanks Stacy_ ," A man in a ill-fitting blue suit and grey tie held a microphone while walking the perimeter of a taped off area, " _Only a handful of hours ago was the peaceful town of Happys Inn just having a quiet night in during a typical Wednesday night. That all changed when a loud explosion was heard in the distance by most of its residents.  We're at the edge of the Kootenei National Forest, for what is usually a quiet night, is now a crime scene. Metal is strewn everywhere and smoke still rises from the now unearthed facility. When firefighters reached the scene, they described it as looking like Hell itself had pierced through the Earth. Police are still trying to figure out information, as well as trying to decide whether to hand this case to the hands of the FBI. We will keep you updated when any thing new is released to the public. Back to you Stacey."_

Bucky leaned back in his chair.  

"Crazy, ain't it?" Dennis just said. 

"You think it's the same guy?" Carol asked. 

Bucky composed himself, and took a sip of his beer. "Ten bucks it's someone different."


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 22 - Day 26: Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals with a false story, but the false story has elements of homophobia. If you would like to skip the part please search for the words "Two days went by". In the end text, if you would like to know what its about, please consult the end notes.

Steve scrubbed on a plate as his mind kept drifting to his encounter with Mike two nights ago. 

Those lips. 

His -  _not his_ \- build. That mouth over his - 

"Hey Grant," somebody from the kitchen got his attention, snapping Steve's memories. "I think that plate is clean." 

"Oh, uh," Steve stopped immediately and looked at the plate. "Yeah. Yeah, it's done, I'm sorry," he placed the plate to the side to dry. He saw May look back at him from his peripheral vision. 

*

"Okay! Kitchen is closed," May yelled back to Phil from the stove, as she checked her watch. "Good job today, team. Clean up, get home, see you back here same time tomorrow."

Steve waved in goodbye and quietly slipped out the back door, hoping that no one would talk to him. 

"Grant," May said from behind. Steve sighed in annoyance, and continued to walk without care. "Rogers."

The commanding voice of May stopped Steve in his tracks, and turned around. "What's up." It wasn't a question. It was a statement of annoyance.  Just to give him space. To leave him alone. 

"I don't know Grant, you tell me?" May crossed her arms. Steve shoved his hands in his pants pocket, just pursing his lips together into a tight line. "No one just scrubs a plate for fifteen minutes without something going on," May went quiet. "I just need to know if you're okay."

Steve breathed through his nose deeply. _Doing great, May_ , Steve thought.  _Chasing an international assassin up the western seaboard to see if he's the one blowing up hidden facilities. Oh? I didn't mention that we have history? That type of history. Oh, and I have zilch when it comes to leads of trying to find the one thing that will set him free from life in prison. That's how I'm doing, May._

"Well?" 

 "I, uh," Steve dropped his head. "Remember when you accidentally picked up my phone?"

 "I think so."

"You saw who you thought was my boyfriend?" May was silent. "He was my husband...for three years."

"Oh," May uncrossed her arms. 

"We had been together for five years total. Absolutely head over heels for him. He," Steve dragged his hand over the back of his neck. "He died a year ago. On Friday." 

May bit her lip. "I'm so sorry."

"You didn't know," Steve just said. 

"Is that why you left L.A.?" 

"No...and yes. I was doing good. Went through all the stages and everything, but as months went by, and the day grew closer, it just started to get...stuffy in our apartment. The apartment," Steve rolled on his feet. 

"Are you going to take a long weekend to head back down the coast?"

"He wasn't buried in L.A. His parents weren't as...open to us. Our ceremony was ordained by our close friend and only attended by a small group of others. He's in Portland." 

"Peaceful."

"Yeah," Steve smiled, with the feeling of tears in his eyes. He even believed himself. 

"So what are you going to do?"

Steve exhaled a deep breath. "I don't know."

"Take the long weekend off. I'm sure Fitz's little brother could use the money."

"If I go, I don't know if I'll ever be back."

"...and that's okay too."

Steve zipped up his jacket more. "Thanks for listening May."

"You're welcome, Grant. You have until Thursday to tell me what you're doing."

"Understood," Steve gave a short wave goodbye and headed back to the hotel. 

 

*

Two days went by without Steve mentioning anything to May. He wasn't expecting, the last time he talked to her, to have her so understandable to just pack-up and go. He was going to take the offer. He saved enough after his hotel stay to be able to have a bit of security after staying in Portland. 

Steve's phone, in his back pocket started to continuously buzz. Steve stopped what he was doing and looked at his phone. 

 **PRIVATE NUMBER**  

 Spam, Steve thought, re-pocketed his phone, and continued to work. The lunch shift was busier than usual, and Steve had to work through his scheduled break just to catch to have a clean slate for the dinner shift. His phone buzzed again as the last plate was set on the drying rack. Steve took his phone out and looked at the screen once more. 

**3 MISSED CALLS: PRIVATE NUMBER**

"What the fuck," Steve whispered. No one had his number other than Scott, and for reasons to avoid his long talks about nothing in particular, he saved his number to his contacts. To ease his slight paranoia, he powered his phone off. If Scott needed him, it would be at the end of his shift.

*

Steve hung up his apron, and placed the gloves to the side for the last time at the restaurant. It was time.

Steve grabbed his phone, made sure his wallet was with him as well and made sure to visit May before he left. 

The Irish goodbye was the easier goodbye.  

May was unbuttoning her chef's jacket when Steve approached her. "So," she stated. "Have you thought about our discussion?"

"I think you need to give Fitz's brother a heads-up that he has a new job," Steve explained.

"For good?"

"For good."

"When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow morning. I have to head to the bus station and pick up my ticket by seven in the morning to be able to make the nine am. It's practically a day long trip."

May smiled. "Thank you so much for your help these past few weeks Steve. You really helped out. Phil won't stop talking about you when we're in bed. It was getting a little creepy honestly."

Steve's eyebrows shot up.

"Oh, please. Don't act surprised. Or judge my relationships, Rogers."

Steve jokingly put his hands up in defense. "No judgement here. Mostly just hearing that Phil talks about me in bed. I'm flattered honestly." 

May pulled Steve into a hug. "Irish goodbye?"

"Irish goodbye," Steve smiled and hugged back. 

"Oh! Before I forget," May grabbed a cap from the top of the spice cabinet. "This is for you. A little something to remember us by."

It was a black cap with the restaurant's logo embroidered on the front. "I'll wear this every day."

"Oh, God, please don't. That thing will be the grossest thing ever if you do," May laughed.

"Every other day, how about that?"

"Much better."

*

Steve checked out of the hotel by seven a.m. on the dot, and started to walk to the transit system. Just another way to the next way out. 

Within twenty minutes, he arrived at the bus station, booking his ticket up to Portland. At least he got a window seat this time, and silently prayed that he wouldn't encounter another Scott. Granted, he was one of a kind.

As soon as Steve got on the bus, he pushed his duffle bag on the over head compartment, sat down, and slept for a few more hours. 

*

During his trips on the multiple modes of public transportation he had taken since switching coasts, Steve had a whole routine down. Sleep, eat, watch the scenery change for hours at end, eat, sleep, repeat if necessary. 

Almost twenty hours passed before the conductor shared his voice over the loudspeaker to let everyone know they were pulling into Portland. Steve powered up his phone to check the time, but was faced with more missed calls from the unknown number. 

Whoever they were, they were persistent and exasperating. Before Steve wanted to find out who was trying to contact him, Steve desperately needed a shower, and desperately needed to hide some more. He thankfully thought ahead a few days and stopped shaving his beard to be able to conceal more of his features. The terminal had an array of pamphlets, and Steve just took the first one he saw. He typed the address into his maps app of his phone, and started his journey to the motel.

*

The clerk happily accepted the two days of advance payment, and handed Steve his key. After walking to his room, he unlocked the door, put his duffle bag on the floor and let himself lay on the bed.

He felt his muscles relax, and sink into the bed, and when his cell phone buzzed again , Steve immediately tensed.  

**PRIVATE NUMBER**

"Fine, I'll answer it," Steve said to himself aloud. He adjusted himself on the bed with his back against the wall. He tapped the green button on his phone and put it up to his ear. "Grant Rogers," he stated. 

" _Man, what the fuck._ " 

"Sam?!" 

" _The one and only_ ," Sam said matter of factly. " _Now, tell me who the hell is Grant Rogers?_ "

"Me, and no one you know," Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. "How did you get this number?"

" _There's an old colleague of ours. British. You may know her. You left her a sadness letter  with your number in it to contact in an emergency._ "

 "Sam, hang up now."

" _No_."

 "This number is traceable. If you want to talk, fine, but at least give me your number so we can talk on a payphone."

 " _Were you born in 1918? Did you forget about Tony's long rants about cell towers? Did you forget about our long talks about_ Serial?"

Steve got up from the bed and started to pace in his room. "I didn't get amnesia, I'm just trying to limit my contact with the FBI, that's all," he sighed. "Fine. Fine. You got me. What are you going to do? Get a squad with Clint leading the battering ram?" 

" _Fuck, that would be great._ "

"Sam."

" _Peggy was worried. She left me a few voicemails and they seemed really distressed, but she still chose to respect your wishes. I'm not blaming her. I'm blaming you.  That's pretty fucked up just to leave her hanging like that_."

 "I'll send her a 'I'm Doing Fine' card. Hopefully Hallmark has stepped up their game."

" _Ten bucks they have that in the 'I'm Chasing My Hot Assassin Boyfriend' section._ "

"You know what, I'm going to say," Steve rolled his eyes, as if Sam was able to see him. "Why don't we cut to the chase? I know you're trying to track my location, and we've bickered long enough that I know you've already got a general idea where I am."

Sam sighed. " _Portland's a strange choice_."

"You and I both know why."

" _You think it's him? The explosions?"_

"One of them. At least the first one. I read something about another one in Idaho, but I have this gut feeling that something isn't right. Like it's too..." Steve's voice drifted off. 

" _Too ostentatious for him_."

"Yeah," Steve scratched his stomach, hearing it grumble from the lack of food. "I know that the FBI might take over the case?" 

" _We've heard rumors. Can't really be our designation unless on Government property - so since the Ash explosion was in a national forest, that's our deal_ ," Sam explained. " _We're still trying to see how big the underground facility is in Idaho. If even a fucking_ sliver  _is on National forestry, you bet your punk ass I will be there,_ " he paused, " _If I'm assigned of course. Mid-West agents are gunning for something since they're so bored_." 

Steve laughed. "Granted more of their agents catch domestic terrorists."

" _Like I said, I bet they're bored,_ " Steve could hear Sam shift in his seat, and more background noise of keyboards clacking, and people talking resonated through the call. 

 "Are you at headquarters now?" Steve sat down on the bed defeated. "How many people are listening in?" 

" _Steve, look -_ "

"How many people, Sam," Steve's anger started to rise.

" _None, it's just me. I swear. I'm on a cell phone_."

"Then why the unknown number."

" _I used the old star-six-seven."_  

"You're a lead investigator for the FBI and you used the star-six-seven trick?"

" _Let's not forget you fell for it_."

 "Goodbye, Sam."

" _Goodbye?! We just started to talk_." 

"I have to go. I'm starving, and spent the last twenty hours on a bus."

" _Living the nomad life is rough_ ," Sam joked. 

"Yeah, especially when I'm used to flying first class," Steve joked back. "I have to go. Please, let me find him. Let me find that book," Steve paused. "I think I have a lead. I'm not sure of it, so I'm not going to say anything. They're not finding out about anything." 

Sam sighed. " _Okay, understood. Mum's the word until I get the go ahead from you, El Capitano."_

"Never call me that again. You're not my sidekick, you're my friend and co-worker."

" _How about your coworker flies from DC to Portland to help you out?_ "

"Please tell me you didn't."

" _I have a feeling they're going to call us in for field work about Ash, now that it's been officially designated for the FBI?_ "

"There's a West Coast team, Sam."

" _So they might need help from the East Coast division._ " 

"I'm guessing you already bought your plane ticket, didn't you," Steve stated.

" _First class and all. See you in thirty-six hours, Steve._ "

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story that Steve tells May deals with the fact that his "husband" had died due to something that Steve doesn't elaborate on. He tells her that Grant moved to San Francisco because he couldn't deal with the death. The anniversary of Grant's husband's death was coming up and wanted to visit his gravestone, but couldn't be buried in LA because of his husband's family that refuses to acknowledge their marriage. 
> 
> This story within the story is false - it is just something that Steve could use to leave the job to be able to head up to Portland, and cover up the fact that he is trying to find Bucky.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 26: Bucky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All rights belong to Marvel. 
> 
> Once again, please heed the tags. This chapter deals with nightmares/memories/PTSD, and describes a scene right before tortures (nothing in detail). If you would like to read what the scene is about, please look at the end notes.

Night approached quickly, and Bucky didn't feel like getting out of his bed. There had been an accident on the interstate, and Carol's garage had been the auto-shop of choice for the totaled car.He and Carol had gotten started on the mess right away.  

The weather, after an abnormal cold snap, warmed up, and warmed up fast. With the heat came the rain. They were both stuck in the shop's garage, and with the garage door shut tight the warm weather plus the humidity made the place feel like some sort of sub-tropic forest. The water that crept in from underneath the garage door didn't help either.  

 By the time the day ended, Bucky just felt damp and gross.  

* 

Over the past few weeks Carol had known Bucky, she had given him books. No self help papers, nothing that chants " _You Can Do Better: In Only Twenty Steps_ ", nor a print out of a listicle from some ad-bombarded website that regurgitates the same goddamn thing his shitty VA assigned therapists gave him two weeks into his stay before meeting Tony. The books were long novels - thousands of pages of high fantasy, deep sci-fi, and witty action. Bucky tore through them, on nights like these, allowing his insomnia take over so he could just finish the last two pages. 

 This evening, however, Bucky couldn't get past the 50th page of the book he was currently reading. Words kept getting stuck and scrambled, and reading the sentence over again kept making it lose all of its meaning. 

He sighed, placed the book on his nightstand, and shut the lamp off. Bucky was laying in complete darkness, save for the few street lamps that were still on outside. He felt off, thinking that if he fell asleep, a wormhole would open up and something would capture him. 

Bucky needed the sleep, so he tried. 

He evened out his breathing, and got comfortable in the sheets, laying his metal arm across his body lightly. Bucky tossed and turned for another ten minutes before throwing the covers off of him and headed to the bathroom. Switching the water flow to the shower spray, Bucky cranked up the heat. It had been his first shower since he arrived in Astoria, as he mostly took baths as to avoid flashbacks. This one felt...different.  

As the shower ran over his body, he let his mind drift. He remembers his face in the crook of Steve's neck, enjoying the scent of musk and day old cologne, enjoying the roughness of his skin against his. He was happy. 

Bucky was so fucking _happy_. 

Bucky's metal arm drifted down his torso, feeling every change of rough patches against the sensor of his arm, until he reached his hardening length. The pad of his thumb circled the tip, before biting his lip. 

The shock of nerves ripped through his body, when he squeezed it lightly. It had been a while since he allowed himself for personal pleasure, even more so before that little voice in his head started to remind him about personal relationships. Bucky wanted this.  _Needed_  this. 

He remembered Steve's hands. Rough, callused, used. Too much for an artist of his caliber. Not even a lick of sculpting material was in his apartment, so to think those were hands of a painter was completely idiotic. Bucky grasped his hand around his now completely hard dick and started to move, happy he wasn't using his flesh hand. It felt as though someone else was there. - broad shoulders, thick thighs - holding him in the exact position he wanted to be in. 

Bucky imagined hands on his hips, rubbing small circles. He stroked himself more, increasing the pressure as he moved farther down the shaft. He imagined rough, deep kisses first on his mouth, then eventually trailing to his collar bone, leaving enough marks to be visible. A soft moan that resonated form the base of his throat escaped his mouth as he started to arch his back slightly every time he increased the pressure, letting the warm water fall onto his neck. The images flashed through his mind again, realizing that he was close to climaxing. 

Bucky continued, ignoring the small protests in his head, until the release of pleasure rippled through his body. 

*

Bucky dried off quickly and headed back to his bed. There was so much pent-up frustration built up inside that he felt like he had released it all moments ago. 

He got to sleep, quicker than usual. 

*

_Bucky was laying on a table, with all four limbs strapped down. He felt the sweat dripping off of his body, throat raw from screaming just moments ago. Bucky lost track of time since he was captured by...by..._

_Bucky tried to think back to days ago when he last saw the sun. He couldn't remember. He couldn't remember the last time he saw the sun. His breathing quickened and started to scream in desperation again._

_As single light turned on by his feet, and heard someone walk up, and stop by the edge of the table. Bucky’s screams stopped short, hearing the ticking of the clock echo_

_“Now who do we have here?” The person asked, the voice echoing off of metal walls_

_“Fuck you, that's who,” Bucky bit back_

_“Tsk, tsk, that's no way to speak to your new friends Sergeant Barnes."_

_“How do you know many name?”_

_“It's right on your dog tags. Plus you've told me before multiple times. Nice to hear something other than your name and identification number.”_

_“Where am I?!”_

_“No where of importance.”_

_“Then get me out of this fucking place. Get me out of these fucking straps!”_

_“Oh, James, I'm not here to save you,” Zola’s voice became louder in Bucky’s ears, as he started to hear medical saw's buzz. “I’m here to mold you into the perfect soldier.”_

*

Bucky shot up in bed, covered in a thin layer of sweat. He breathed heavily, feeling as though he ran a marathon. It was one of those dreams he hadn't had in a while. The last time was at the VA hospital. He was pumped full of medication, and almost locked in his room every night. The lights were off, and he would just stare back a the dark ceiling, hoping that he wouldn't get tired and see the images happen all over again. From there on out, he was able to manage - waking up at specific times, and being controlled by Zola, again, helped not to see that dream, but here he was, watching himself get tortured once again.  

 Bucky got up and swung his legs over, letting the cool air from the vents cascade over his body.  _There goes my night of good sleep_ , he thought. 

On his nightstand, Bucky noticed his phone buzzing slightly with a small notification from his news app. 

**Breaking: EXPLOSION INVESTIGATIONS NOW UNDER FBI JURISDICTION**  

_Great_ , Bucky thought, _just great_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After Bucky pleasures himself, he has a memory/nightmare about being captured and ends right after a saw starts up. Nothing in detail is written, but implied. This is canon-typical and is similar to a scene a CA:TWS flashback.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 27: Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All rights belong to Marvel

Steve had thirty hours to get out of Portland. Thirty hours to find a car, to find a train, to find something so Sam wouldn't get to him. He knew his friend wouldn't take him back, but he knew Sam and he would try his best. 

Steve was convinced he was on the newest Most Wanted list, considering everything. Considering that he generally doesn't pack up and go. They're all too smart to figure out that somebody kidnapped Steve.  He probably shouldn't have written that letter, but hindsight is twenty-twenty. 

*

There was a small breakfast nook about a block from his motel, and considering it was a warm winter day, Steve walked. He enjoyed the fresh air, and the difference from his last location. As the wind blew, he heard creaking from the nearby forest, noting just how quiet it was. Just how easy it would be to slip in and out, not making a sound. 

If an assassin hides in a small city, and no one sees a suspect, does anyone really notice?

*

The diner was small, but cozy. The coffee was free flowing and the omelettes were packed to the brim, as well as having free WiFi for customers. He was looking through the maps section when a decidedly loud customer came into the restaurant. He wasn't screaming, or yelling per say, but it wasn't something that he would expect from someone from the west coast, at eleven in the afternoon.

It reminded him of New York, and when he really listened to the man talk, the thick Midtown drawl resonated with him. Steve didn't want to take any chances. New York was big, and he hadn't been there in some odd years, but pulling down his cap made him feel a bit more concealed. 

The man sipped on his coffee loudly, and ordered an omelette, all the while he still talked to the waitress about his last client. Steve tried his best to no overhear, but you can take a man out of Manhattan, but not Manhattan out of the man.

"The month has been pretty normal to say the least. Drunk tourists trying to find the best weed spot, even though it's two in the morning, yadda yadda yadda. You would think that they would prepare and get the weed before taking a collective twenty shots of Jäger at the bar?"

Steve looked over, and just saw the waitress shrug. "People are strange, Happy," she put the cleared plate into a black bin.

"Strange, and don't respect preferred business hours,"  He heard the fork against the plate click, as the man started to eat. "Honestly," the man - _Happy...why have I heard that name Happy before_  - "the strangest - well, I shouldn't say strangest - the most interesting client was at the beginning of the month. Around that explosion in Ash. Brought him up to Astoria. Had a full-blown panic attack in the car. Had to pull over and get him through it. I told you about Stark right?"

Stark. 

_Fucking hell_ , Steve started to make connections. Happy Hogan - Stark's personal driver around Midtown while he lived in New York, before Stark was recruited by the FBI to be the lead technical adviser and the headquarters' most pretentious genius. Stark talked about him from time to time, saying that he could drive anywhere and in anything. Steve didn't believe him until one of Stark's wild stories that Happy used to be an EMT when the Towers fell, it wasn't that hard to imagine. 

"You've told me about him multiple times," the waitress leaned on the counter.

"Well, I'm going to tell you more," Happy took another sip of his coffee. "He got panic attacks. Like, real bad ones. Something happened overseas while he was promoting his next big thing, and came back to the city messed up. His current girlfriend was a rock and really helped him get through it. Anyway, it was the first time he got back in a car. For like three months, he couldn't get into one because it would cause flashbacks. Bad ones, but one day he did it. Closed the door, and twenty seconds in, he's panicking. Mind you, we're right near Grand Central, the height of tourist season in New York City, and he's bent over, dry heaving into a sewer grate in a Gucci suit, and I can't do shit because they didn't really train us to help people with anxiety," Happy sighed. "I took classes after that, and renewed my EMT certification just in case something happened to him. He was like my best friend. A brother," Happy leaned back in his chair. "Anyway, there's this dude about month ago  - ragged, tired, pale, and loaded with cash. Like, he paid me in straight cash. He gets into my car, and then a little while later, he's trying to get out of it while I'm still driving. Poor guy. Had to drive on the side of the highway, and let him cool off. Basically I had to do some deep breathing exercises with him. Nice kid, but he had a bar as his drop off location, but I went to the local hotel instead." 

"Probably saved his life and liver," the waitress noted.

"Probably. Oh, and he had a prosthetic. So this dude obviously went through some shit."

Steve almost dropped his fork. It could be anyone. It could be anybody. The world would work too perfectly if it was him. Steve placed his fork and knife on the plate, suddenly too full to continue to eat. Happy took out his wallet and paid for his meal, and got up from his chair. "Thanks for the chat, Darleen. As always, give the chef my compliments, and I'll see you in a couple of days," Happy smiled and walked away. Steve followed suit, after putting a twenty dollar bill on the table giving a short wave to the waitress. 

Once back outside he saw Happy get into the driver's seat of his Escalade, and Steve ran up to him to make sure that he wasn't getting away.  He heard the car's engine rev, and Steve started to flag Happy down. The driver poked his head out the window. 

"What, you want a ride? Not a taxi service, sir. Either call the company's number you see on the back of the car or you can use the app."

"I need to ask you some questions," Steve said as he walked up quickly to the driver's side. Happy cocked an eyebrow and turned off the engine. 

"If it's about the app, I can only give you answers about the driver portion of it."

"What app?" Steve questioned. 

Happy squinted his eyes. "PickÜuP," Happy said while Steve furrowed his eyebrows. He took out his phone to show the app. "Look, the umlaut looks like one of those smiley emoticon...things."

"Okay, this is already off track," Steve muttered, as he fished around for his phone and swiped through his photos. He found the one of the few photos he had with Bucky at the museum. They were smiling looking at the camera in front of the skulls. He was so visibly tired, so visibly shaken by the events that had occurred the night or so before, and didn't know what was coming. He wanted to give him something to remember, so it wasn't just as though a S.W.A.T. team would barge right into his home as he was eating his morning breakfast. "I overheard your conversation at the diner, and was wondering if this guy was one of your passengers," Steve showed him the photo. 

"Oh, shit that's the guy with the prosthetic," Happy's eyes became wide. "Wait. How do you know him?"

Steve sighed, not sure what Bucky divulged or not. Clearly the photo had some P.D.A., so Steve wasn't sure what exactly his anger would be about, so Steve just told the truth and lied at the same time."I'm his ex-boyfriend. If you're going to be homophobic, I'm just going to leave -"

Happy turned off his car and unbuckled his seatbelt, which caused Steve to stop talking. He shifted in his seat more to look at Steve. "You're Christian's ex?!"

_"Who now_?"

"You don't even know you ex-boyfriend's name? Granted you would forget, especially from all of the lying you did to him. I bet you cheated on him you, dick bag. Forget about any questions - what's you name?"

"Grant Rogers," Steve said. No reason to change that information.

"Mr. Rogers, will all due respect, you need to apologize to your boyfriend. No reason to treat someone with that many issues like that."

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Bucky really put him in a situation. "That's what I'm doing," he said as he saw Happy buckle himself to the seat and turned the engine on. Happy looked at Steve. "I'm going to and win him back," Steve turned his performance to eleven, almost  wishing that there were Oscars for lying. 

Happy squinted. "I don't believe you."

"I'll pay you three hundred dollars cold hard cash if you get me there tonight."

"Sold. I mean you definitely need to apologize, but if you're spending that much money on a hundred-and-fifty dollar ride, absolutely," Happy said. He scrolled through his phone's calendar. "Yeah, I'm free. Just have to be back by tomorrow, for an old buddy's friend to be picked up at the airport."

*

Steve adjusted his duffle bag as Happy pulled up in the motel's parking lot. Steve just opened the door, placed his bag inside and sat on his seat. He buckled his seatbelt and -

"Just gotta make sure - Grant Rogers?"

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose for the second time today. "Yeah, that's me."

Happy put his car into drive. "Away we go."

Steve watched the city turn into trees along winding roads, with street lamps eventually dwindling down to only so often. Steve was thankful Happy was finally quiet for once, focusing on the road ahead. Steve breathed out and leaned his head against the back seat. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket. 

_Portland bound. See you tomorrow, Steve._

_No you won't_ , Steve thought and drew his cap over his eyes so he could fall asleep, if only for an hour.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 28: Bucky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All rights belong to Marvel

Two days later, Bucky was tired and the two cups of weak coffee weren't helping his predicament. He was under a car fixing the engine when he felt two hands grab his ankles and pull him out under. He quickly flipped the wrench, ready to defend himself against - 

Carol stood over his body with a scowl over her face, hands on her hips, and her hair in a bun. She walked back to give Bucky some space to get up from the ground. His stomach tightened with thick anxiety, hoping that whatever she was man about was something regarding the shop, and not the fact that she might have found out who he actually was. He groggily raised an eyebrow, and loosened his grip on the wrench. 

"Uh, good morning?" 

"Good morning, my ass. Get out," Carol pointed to the door.

"What?"

"Out."

"What did I do? Am I at least allowed that explanation?" Bucky asked, still on the floor.

"What did you do? More like, what did you not do?" Carol paused. "Ben, for the past month or so, you have never drank an ounce of coffee. You come in here, bright-eyed and bushy tailed, with a Dick Van Dyke level of energy to start the day. It's great, and since you have been here you have looked so much better than when I first met you. But, you drank coffee today."

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows. "So?"

"You're tired. Exhausted, even," Carol held up her hand to have Bucky from talking. "Yes, I can infer that from just two cups of coffee. Don't forget I led a whole squad out in the desert. I had to keep an eye out for this shit, so there wouldn't be any friendly fire situations," Carol stepped back and held her hand out so that Bucky could get up from the ground. She watched him dust off his clothes. 

"So, I'm tired," Bucky adjusted his shirt, hoping nothing showed. 

"You know the difference between tired, and not sleeping for two days straight," Carol crossed her arms. "What is it? Drugs? Nightmares? Forty-eight hour fuck session?" 

Bucky scratched his neck. "I honestly wish it was the latter." 

"Not helping, Williams."

Bucky sighed. "One memory, two days ago."

"Okay. Do you have someone to talk to it about?" Carol asked.

"No," Bucky sighed. "I don't think I'm ready for that."

"Sometimes you're not ready for it," Carol countered. "Sometimes you just have to rip the bandaid off." Bucky started to feel the tightness return to his shoulders and tried to ignore it. "Go home. Take a nap, do something that can give you twenty minutes of shut-eye. Maybe watching a shitty show on Netflix might to the trick, I don't care. I can't have you working under a car without sleep. I can't have you unscrew something, forget to put it back and have the engine fall out while the driver is speeding down the highway," Carol had her hand open, waiting for something to drop in it. Bucky signed and gave her back the wrench. 

"When can I come back?"

"After eight hours of sleep."

"Understood," Bucky walked over to the hook and grabbed his jacket. "I'll see you tomorrow, Carol." 

*

The clouds packed the sky, taking out most of the filtered light from the sun, and Bucky just kept walking, really not caring where he went, as long as it wasn't his bed.

But.

It was his only chance to make money. His only way to survive. If Carol said that the only way to come back to work was to sleep, he was at least going to try. 

The hotel seemed quiet when he walked in, smiling slightly at the clerk who was sitting at the desk waiting for people to filter in. 

The bed was made, neatly, and the bathroom spotless. He took his clothes off, so he was only wearing his boxers, and got into the bed once again, hoping that this sleep would be better than the last.

*

_He was in a white room, and could hear the metronomic beats of the heart monitor next to him. Bucky was wearing a thin hospital gown, as he sat up in bed realizing where he was._

_"Hello?" He called. "Nurse? Anyone?" Bucky started to become frantic. A stout woman entered the room wearing light blue scrubs._

_"James! Good morning. How are you today," she smiled toward him but her face was blurred._

_"Who are you?" Bucky relaxed slightly, but was still on alert._

_"Terry," something resembling a smile washed over her face. In her hand she had a needle._

_"What are you doing with that?"_

_"This is something prescribed by your doctor. It's going to help with your nightmares, and allow you to get some sleep."_

_"I was already asleep."_

_"I know, James."_

_"Then why are you giving me more?" Bucky didn't like this. He wanted to leave, he wanted to get out of here. He quickly looked at his arm to see that there was no IV. He quickly disconnected his heart monitors, and saw the nurse quickly put down the needle on the counter. "I need to get out of here," he said as he got out from his bed, ignoring the alarms that got off. Running out of his room, he just saw nurses starting to crowd from nowhere, with their faces blurred, and crowding him._

_He was stuck - he wasn't going to get out. He wasn't going to -_

_"Mr. Barnes," Dr. Schmidt said as Bucky felt as though he was magically transported back to his room. "You had quite the exciting day, haven't you?" the doctor laughed._

_"You could say that," Bucky responded, his voice sounding raw._

_"How are you feeling?"_

_"Not so great, doc. You see I'm still in the hospital, lacking one arm." Bucky just saw the doctor jot something down in his notes._

_"Seems to me that your humor hasn't disappeared."_

_"Yeah, I'm going to put that on my dating profiles for all the guys to swipe right on."_

_Dr. Schmidt chuckled. "We're going to do something different today. We're going to go to the PT gym. There won't be many people there. Maybe...three or four."_

_Bucky was silent, trying to hide that he gripped the bedsheet. "Uh, I don't know if-"_

_Dr. Schmidt leaned in close to Bucky. "Between you and me, if you go with me to the PT gym, I'll sneak in an order of some frosted donuts."_

_Bucky just raised his eyebrows. "Chocolate glazed. Two."_

_"Deal. We just have to give you this," Dr. Schmidt pulled out the needle that the nurse was holding before. Bucky visibly tensed. "It's just a vitamin booster. You're still extremely malnourished." Bucky still didn't answer. "Would I ever lie to you, James?"_

*

Bucky opened his eyes quickly, the covers pushed to the end of his bed, and yet again covered in a thin layer of sweat. Bucky didn't budge, still trying to orient himself as to where he was. When he was ready he turned over to his nightstand and checked his phone.

Six-thirty in the evening. That was eight hours of sleep, hoping he would get more later. The dream that he had was more of an old memory that he hadn't revisited before today. Even though the memory came about, Bucky still had energy. He was up, and as much as he didn't want to agree with Carol, his glorified nap really did the trick. His stomach grumbled and he decided not to get the same old bar food tonight. 

He liked Dennis, but he just needed peace and time alone, and a burger. 

*

Bucky washed up, got dressed and headed out to the second local bar he had been frequenting without Carol. 

The bar was dark, lights only illuminating where people needed it. Each table had a lamp over the booth. Bucky waved lightly to the bartender, with a wave back. He sat down at the booth in the back waiting for the waitress to give him a menu. The glove was still on his hand, always thankful there wasn't any skin to breakdown while wearing it for practically half the day. 

"Hey, Ben," The waitress smiled as she handed him a laminated menu. 

"Hi, Tamara," Bucky winked and flashed a smile. "How are you today?"

"Peachy," She cocked her right hip, as she flipped a small notebook and clicked a pen. "What would you like, hun?"

Bucky scanned the menu, like he was going to order something different. "How about, a burger with bacon and cheddar-jack cheese? Ketchup, with the works, and a salad for a side. Gotta watch the carb intake, the doc gave me shit yesterday," Bucky handed the menu back. "and the house draft for a drink, please and thank you." 

"There's those words of affirmation," Tamara winked and snapped her notebook close, took the menu, and winked. "I'll get you that beer, and put the food order in for you."

Bucky watched the waitress tap the order into the bar's system's and talk to the bartender. There was someone he hasn't seen been fore there, though. He looked new, too polished, and tense. He could see Tamara talking to the man, but due to the increasing amount of people he couldn't quite hear their conversation. He showed her his phone, looking at her. 

He saw his profile. 

Even though he was wearing a cap, he couldn't be mistaken as to who it was. 

_Steve_.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day Who Gives A Fuck: Sam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An interlude. 
> 
> All rights belong to Marvel

Sam woke up two hours before the plane touched down at the Portland airport. Sleeping on airplanes was the worst for him. No matter the airline, no matter if they had beds or a reclining seat, he could never get comfortable, so even if his body did get the six hours of rest, his mind sure didn't. The stewardess came over to Sam with a warm mug of coffee, and he thanked her softly as he took a sip and placed his earphones in and turned on the news.

" _-still investigating the two explosions in the North-West corner of the country. Local police and State police turned the investigations over the FBI. Many firefighters have been on the scene for weeks at a time making sure that the explosions haven't caused any further damage to the forests or started any fires that could spread down the coast line. Idaho has seen a similar series of events. Reports have been coming within the past few hours that yet another facility explosion has occurred. Omaha, Nebraska where the -_ " 

Sam took his earbuds out and pinched the bridge of his nose, and leaned his head back on his seat. 

_Not how I wanted to start my West Coast vacation_ , Sam thought. 

*

Sam grabbed his duffle from the baggage claim as he filtered through his e-mails that came through as his phone was off during his flight. Most of them emergency e-mails from Fury explaining the details of the latest explosion. Sam closed his tabs, having enough work issues this early in the morning. As he walked outside, he savored the fresh morning air as he waited for the driver to pull up. 

*

The hotel was quiet and clean, and Sam sat down, plugging his phone into the wall charger. He pulled up his text messages and typed in Steve's number.

_here in portland_

_where are you_

**Not in portland.**

_oh come on!_

_i flew all the way out here_

_i'd buy you a drink_

_:(_

**I can pay for myself.**

_that's what friends are for though_

_free drinks!_

_think about it Steve_

**No, even if I was in Portland**

**Also it's not even 12pm**

_it's 2 in DC_

_my internal drink o'clock says it's ok_

😒

_did you hear about omaha?_

**It's been on the news non-stop since it happened.**

**are you gonna investigate it?**

_not yet._

_have to look at the Ash scene._

_talk to a few people down there to_

_see what's going on_. 

Sam fiddled with his phone trying to think to write next. 

_have you found him yet?_

**No**

**but I'm close.**

**I'll keep the Omaha thing in mind.**

_we're going to solve this thing_

_i'm on your side, Steve_

**I'll give you a call when I'm ready.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 28 to Day 29: Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All rights belong to Marvel

The waitress tapped an order into the system right next to Steve. The place was getting busy, as he can hear the crowd grow and grow since he sat down. 

"Hey," the waitress yelled at the cook in the back, "Burger all the way with ketchup, bacon, and cheddar. Salad on the side."

A cook appeared in the middle window. "Is that for Williams?" He laughed, as well as the waitress. 

"How'd you guess?" She just winked at the cook and turned around to wait for the beer for a customer. She looked at Steve and smiled softly. "Well, you're new."

Steve cocked an eyebrow at her, teasingly. "Well, you're good at reading people."

"I'd remember a face like yours," she said back to Steve with a smile.

"Grant," Steve said lightly, putting down his phone. The phone lit up, showing his lock screen.

"Tamara," she responded, and quickly looked to the phone seeing him and Bucky smiling at the camera. "Oh, do you know Ben?!" Steve turned his barstool to her, a little dumbfounded. Tamara grabbed the poured beer. "He's literally," she looked over to a table in the corner, and the unmistakeable sound of a door slamming shut, almost masked by the sound of the bar crowd. "He was right there," she set the beer down and walked over to the table, quickly picking up the money left over. She turned around trying to find him, but pursed lips and a concerned look stated otherwise. Steve put money down on the bar and waved goodbye to the bartender.

"No change," Steve said and walked out of the bar trying to find where he went.

*

The street lamps brightened the darkened streets, and Steve tried to navigate as he looked down each alleyway. He felt as though he was mere feet from him. Steve turned around, walking backward, thinking that he was being followed from behind, being tracked being -

Steve hit something from behind, which grunted, and swore in a voice he had dreamed about for practically a whole month. 

"Look, if you're gonna fucking push a guy, why don't you show your fucking face, _you coward_. I had a shit day, I'm tired - " He kept talking as Steve paused, before taking a deep breath and turning around.  He looked so different. His cheekbones were more pointed, his hair cut, and beard shaved into something entirely not Bucky's style, but for one thing it was him. "You gotta be _fucking shitting me_."

"Hello to you too," Steve said lightly before Bucky grabbed him with his metal arm, shoved him into an alleyway, and up against a brick wall. 

"How the ever-loving _fuck_ did you find me?" Bucky gritted, while his hand pinned Steve against the wall. Steve took a deep breath, his mind drifting back from their last encounter, waiting to be choked, to be punched, but it never came.

"The explosions. The first one started here."

" _It could have been anybody_."

"No one just blows up a random underground facility in the middle of nowhere, on top of it being something that caves in on itself, rather than shooting metal shards everywhere."

Bucky chewed on his lip, and Steve eyes watched before dragging his eyes back to meet his. "We're not making out."

"I never said anything about making out."

"For an undercover agent, you really need to control your body language," Bucky still had Steve pinned to the wall, but he wasn't protesting. "You need to leave."

"I can help you find the Red Book."

"I just want to live my life." 

"So what life is that? Eating shitty burgers and even shittier beer every other night?"

"Fuck you, Trevor makes amazing burgers. Don't knock until you've tried it." 

Steve rolled his eyes, and huffed. "I want to help you find it."

"Finding that book is a lost cause. Get out of here, get back to your life as a fucking FBI agent. Have fun fucking other people over."

"What if I'm done with that? What if I realized that it's not what I want to do anymore?"

"One case doesn't change your life."

"Yes it does," Steve's eyes became stoic, and pursed his lips together. Bucky loosened his grip and let go, and Steve adjusted his clothes as Bucky walked away. "Where are you going?"

"Back to my hotel. I hope you do the same after you book your flight back."

"No," Steve started to follow him, "Not gonna do it."

Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets. "I'm staying here. I have a job. A real job."

"I'm sure you do."

"A boss, and everything."

"I'm happy for you, Buck."

Bucky turned around quickly. " _What did I say about using that name_." It was more of a pointed statement than a question.

"Understood." 

"Go back to your hotel. It ends here."

"I am. My hotel is this way," Steve stated. 

Bucky paused, and locked his hands behind his head. "How did you get to Astoria?"

"Happy, but you might know him as the guy you mentioned how I was your ex who cheated on you?"

Bucky dropped his arms and looked up to the sky. "God, why do you hate me? Why do you make life so goddamn difficult?"

"D'you know he's Tony's old personal driver?"

"You're literally the _most annoying human on the face of the Earth right now,_ Steve." Bucky's frustration tumbled out in the middle of the road. "Let me live my life. Let me wallow in this post-killing guilt. Let me die in peace."

" _No_. No. You know why, James? You know why I left my life in D.C.? You know why I practically left my full time position at the FBI? Do you know why I took the case?" Bucky waved him off and started to walk again. "I took the case because I of you. Not because of The -"

" _Don't you fucking dare say that name_." Bucky turned around quickly, and interrupted him.

"Not because of  _him_. I wanted to know what happened, if it actually was true. The James Barnes I grew up with never would have done such a thing. I read the files. That wasn't you." 

"Well, Steve," Bucky shrugged his arms and let them drop against his thighs, "you better believe it because, I don't know what else to tell you." 

"Well, I can tell you that the man that tried to choke me out wasn't you and even when he tried, you tore through it. You started to break through. I don't blame you for not trusting me, not one bit, but I will tell you this right here, right now, in the middle of this street with surprising no cars passing through, _I mean what the hell,"_  Steve turned around looking around. "When you start to finally trust me again, I will be there." 

Bucky shook his head and started to walk again, with Steve not too far behind. "So, who are you here? Did Stephen Turner survive the great FBI meltdown?"

"No, for all we know Turner is gone. Went to Cabo or something. Grant Rogers, stunt man extraordinary has risen the ranks." 

"Grant Rogers? Really? Two out of three names, Steve, that's pretty weak."

"Who are you then?"

"Benjamin Williams. Ben for short." 

"You sound like a paint company." 

"Fuck off."

"What are you going to do? Throw paint chips at me?"

Bucky just gave him the finger. "I'm a mechanic, I'd rather throw a wrench at you."

Steve just sighed. "Another facility blew up today - you hear about that?" 

That stopped Bucky in his tracks. "Where?"

"Omaha." He saw Bucky's head drop. "What?" Bucky shook his head and kept walking. 

"You have an idea - you have a connection."

"FBI is already on the case, shocked one of your friends hasn't shown up."

"Sam is already in Portland, about to help investigate the Ash explosion. You're sure these aren't your doings?" Steve asked, facing Bucky.

"I've been here the whole time. You can ask Carol."

"Who's Carol?"

"My boss." 

"Oh, you weren't kidding about the mechanic thing," Steve paused. "I'll need just to confirm it with her."

"Not helping with the whole trusting thing, pal."

"Fine. Then just promise me one thing. You're not an ex, you're not my husband."

"Off limits, I understand."

"He died in a fire, from smoke inhalation."

"Inventive, I like it. My ex-husband died from cancer."

"Did you get those water works going?"

"Like a faucet," Steve shrugged, and sighed. "I need you to tell me why. Why Idaho, why Oregon, why Nebraska."

"Not today." 

"Is there a pattern?" 

Bucky sighed. "Yes."

"Are there any more facilities?"

"Yes."

"Do you know where the next one could be?"

"...Possibly." 

"I need a yes or no answer," Steve pleaded. 

"I-I'm not sure. Things get a little fuzzy around that...that time."

"Okay," Steve nodded. "I need to see you tomorrow."

Bucky turned around and started walking up the street again, slowly making his way toward the sidewalk. "I'm only going to say yes, because you'll probably find me anyway. I'm at Danver's Auto shop. Find me there."

*

They parted ways at the hotel, not bothering to say goodnight. As Steve closed his door to the room, he rested his forehead on the wall.

The idea of Bucky’s guilt overwhelmed Steve - all those years of manipulation onto one person’s shoulders considerably break someone down. Steve wanted to absolve it all, take it away, compress it all, and throw it into the ocean. Steve felt warm tears fall down his face. This wasn't his battle, but he wanted it to be his, so  _so bad._

Steve leaned off from the door and wiped the tears from his face before stripping off his clothes and falling asleep. 

*

_“Hey,” a soft voice echoed in Steve’s ear, “time to get up ”_

_“What for?” Steve groaned_

_“It's your birthday, that's what for,” Bucky - it was his voice, so unmistakably his voice - leaned in and started to give light kisses to Steve’s neck._

_“If you keep doing that, I’m never getting out of these covers. Probably gonna pull you in,” Steve rolled over locking with those grey speckled eyes. Steve placed his hand on Bucky’s neck and ran a thumb over stubble. Bucky placed his other arm - flesh how is it flesh? - over Steve and leaned in to kiss deeper. A groan resonated in Steve's throat. “Why can't all days be like these?” Steve mumbled against his lips and looked at Bucky._

_Something changed. The emotion that was there just moments ago changed . There was...nothing. Steve shifted in his bed so he was sitting up. Bucky stood up and curled his hands around Steve’s neck, cutting off his airway._

_That was the Ghost._

Steve’s alarm woke him out of the dream, and looked at his phone turning off the blaring noise. He rubbed his eyes, still in bed.

He needed to start the day. He needed to convince Bucky to help him to find out what the pattern was.

He was going to help no matter what.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 29: Bucky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All rights belong to Marvel

Bucky sipped on a large cappuccino as he walked into the auto shop, saying good morning to Carol as he set the drink down and hung up his rain coat. 

"How much did you sleep?" She leaned back in her chair. 

"Eight hours, then another eight last night. Sixteen in all."

"See, your body _needed_ the sleep."

"I had four nightmares."

"I said body, not mind," Carol said worryingly. "Do you at least feel better?" 

Bucky picked up his drink again, before shrugging "I feel good enough to work."

Carol nodded, and handed the wrench that had been sitting on her desk. "Good enough for me."

*

Bucky popped the hood of the car, and started to tinker with the engine. He became focused, letting the sounds of metal against metal become a white noise. He didn't know if it had been thirty minutes or three hours and he was thankful for allowing himself to get lost. 

He almost forgot about last night. 

Almost.

Bucky stretched his back, twisting his taut muscles, and welcoming the slight pain. A few knocks echoed from the garage door bringing his attention back to the present. He walked up to where the sound, and put his hands on his hips, before trying to speak loud enough so his words would filter without opening up the garage. "You gotta go to the office first before I can open up the garage for you," Bucky practically yelled, but the knocking continued more. 

"You gotta," Bucky almost screamed, but gave up in between restating his sentence. He rolled his eyes and went to the office, and opened it up to let Carol know. The office was empty, so Carol probably took her lunch. He sighed deeply, and went back over to the garage door, flicking the switch to let the machine slowly open the metal door. 

A nice black suit, with patent leather shoes was the first thing he saw, as the door traveled upwards, the legs weren't the legs he knew. They weren't the ones he felt next to him, underneath his shitty duvet. They were long and skinny, and -

The man who was standing before him was an agent. An agent he had met before once, in a nicely lit gallery back in Falls Church. He was sure as fuck hoped it was only by chance. 

"What the actual fuck," the man in front of him almost dropped his car keys. Bucky didn't know whether to back up, or grab the nearest crow bar to knock him out and head straight out of Astoria and hop a plane to Alaska, but he could only tell himself one thing - he was cornered. 

"I know you," Bucky stated.

"Yeah, you do. I have a name though. It's Sam." Bucky took a step back as he tightened his fist. The man braced himself, putting his hands in front of his body, like he was trying to calm down a tiger.

"Did he send you?"

"Who's he?"

"You know who I'm talking about," Bucky bit back.

"You're speaking about a whole gender here."

"Your 'best friend from college', your co-worker, your fellow _agent_."

"Steve," Sam furrowed his eyebrows. "You can say his name, there's no curse on it." Bucky just rolled his eyes. "Is there a curse on it?"

"No, there's no fucking curse on his name. Did Steve send you? Do his dirty work?"

"Steve's here?"

"Don’t act like you haven’t been in constant contact with him."

"I was on my way to Ash to investigate a theory, when my car started acting up. The check engine light came on and this was the closest mechanic." 

"Bullshit."

"Calling me out?"

"Yeah, I am. You, what, flew into Portland? There's a route that doesn't take you two and a half extra hours to get there. It's called going south. You came here for a reason, and that reason is Steve." Sam was quiet. "You're trying to find him."

Sam put his sunglasses on the top of his head, arms at his hips, squinted, and took a deep sigh. "You should have been part of the team."

"Well, we all just can get a magic time turner and go back to the one thing that changed our lives."

"Ain't that true," Sam muttered just loud enough. 

"Hey, Ben!" Carol waved as she walked back onto the lot with a cup of coffee. "We got a new one?"

"Hey Carol," Bucky yelled, as he gave a short wave back. "Yeah, Mr. New York City here has a check engine light on," Bucky took a peek at the car. He saw the issue. "It's a quick fix, really won't take me two minutes."

Carol trotted up to the two of them, and gave her hand out to Sam. "Carol Danvers, owner."

"Nice to meet you," Sam said.

Carol looked at Bucky. "You sure, two minutes?"

"You can time me."

"No charge then," Carol said to Sam, who only raised an eyebrow.

Bucky walked over to the car, shut the gas tank, and walked right back over to Sam, clapping his metal arm on the back of Sam, making him fall forward slightly before catching himself. "All yours, buddy. Have a safe trip to Ash. Tell your friend to fuck off, and let me live my life."

Carol raised her eyebrows, and took another sip of her coffee. "I think this is more of a personal issue, than a car issue, so I'm going to back in my office. Have a great day, Sam."

"You as well, Carol," Sam gave a short wave as Carol walked away. Bucky felt a slight buzz in his pocket, and glanced at the phone before Sam started talking again.

_Just let me know when_

_and I'll kick him out of here_

_if he keeps bothering you._

"So, Barnes, I'm at a loss," Sam placed his hands in his pocket. 

"What do you mean?" Bucky questioned him. 

"There's a few routes we can follow. One, I can arrest you right here and now, cuff you, bring your sorry ass right back to D.C. Two, I can still arrest you, but bring Steve back as well. That's two arrests in one, my boss will be happy."

 "Is there an option where I won't be arrested?"

 "Hell no," Sam immediately replied, "but I think there's an option where things will go a little smoother."

Bucky scratched the back of his neck, and let out a breath. "If we're going to start talking about what I think you're about to bring up, don't. Not here. I just need to think things over for a few more hours."

"But-"

"I need to finish this car too. Shocker, but I'm getting paid to do a job, and your little snafu could may have gotten me brownie points, but it doesn't pay Carol's bills."

"Okay, deal," Sam sighed, and twirled his keys in his hands. "This entire case is time sensive. We all have to talk about it. Steve already knows I'm here, it's just luck that you're my car's saving grace. When do you get out of work?"

"Two or three depending."

"Four p.m. - Steve's hotel. I'm guessing you already know where he's staying."

Bucky was quiet.

Sam mocked a salute and got back into his car, revving the engine. He brought the window of his driver's seat down. "Think about it, Ben," Sam emphasized Bucky's fake name, "Neither you nor I want anymore deaths on your hands, no matter what's going on. Think about it."


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 29: Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All rights belong to Marvel

Steve swirled his beer at the hotel bar, waiting for Sam to come back from the garage. He felt like an all-above asshole. The conversation Bucky and him had barely a day ago kept replaying in his head - it wasn't Steve's job. It couldn't be.  Steve could only offer voices of support, even if that meant he would lose him to the Pacific Northwest.

He saw Sam hand his keys off to the valet and walk inside, like he was imitating Daniel Craig. "What up, lover boy. A little early to be sipping one of those?" Sam sat down in the exuberantly fluffed chair. 

Steve only rolled his eyes, and sipped his drink some more. "I'm nervous."

"You? Nervous? You crashed a plane into the sea, I wouldn't say you're nervous."

"I'm dangerously impulsive, there's a difference. I'm allowed to be nervous," Steve took a deep sigh. "So, what happened?"

"What happened was that he practically figured everything out within three minutes of me pulling up to the garage, that's what happened. He's not an idiot, Steve."

"Never said he was."

"From what you told me though, is that, and I quote, ' _damaged beyond all comprehension_ '."

Steve rolled his eyes. "He has been brainwashed for nigh on ten years. That's sure to do some psychological damage. Never said he was an idiot."

Sam and Steve both sat there talking about nothing, talking about the people Steve had met and passed by throughout the past month. It felt like he was talking about some grand adventure - like a grandfather passing stories down to his children.

*

Steve took a sip of his drink, now just water. The conversation died down naturally, both him and Sam just watching the time ticking on by. Sam turned to his phone, answering emails, and calling some people back East. Steve put the glass down, and looked back at the door only to see Bucky walking through the hotel entrance. Sam saw Steve's eye's go wide, and turned around. 

"Well, I'll be damned," Sam muttered.

Bucky walked up, placing his hands in his jeans' pockets. "You have anywhere for me to sit?"

"We booked the hotel's conference room, so we can all spread out there some more," Steve answered. 

"Of course you did," Bucky sighed.

*

Sam plugged the HDMI cable into the computer's port, and started to configure the presentation. Bucky furrowed his brows and looked at Steve, and back at Sam.

"Are we having a time-share conference?" Bucky asked. "Gonna try and sell us to spend one week in Fiji a year with twenty-five other couples?"

"Okay," Sam placed both hands on his podium. "Ground rules - anytime someone has a snide comment about anything, you have to raise your hand." Bucky raised his hand. Sam pointed at him and just said, "No." He hit two keys on his laptop. "Shall we get started?" 

Sam pulled up photos of all three destroyed facilities. He cleared his throat before he started to talk. "The three facilities that we know where they were destroyed. Bottom right is the one done by Barnes."

"Allegedly," Steve stated.

" _Allegedly_ ," Sam sighed. "Top two - Idaho, and Nebraska.  _Allegedly_  not done by Barnes, but we know nothing about what makes these two different, from the one in Ash. To officials it all looks the same. But," Sam tapped his keyboard, "There are. Let's look at Ash. Barnes, it looks like you missed some documents to incinerate. Pretty key stuff." A picture of a opened safe filled with stacks upon stacks of papers and journals appeared on screen, untouched by the manufactured flames. "Unless it was intentional." 

Bucky tensed, and Steve leaned forward in his seat to get a better look at the picture. 

"What's on those pages?" Steve asked. 

"We haven't sifted through them yet - they were just uncovered a few hours ago," Sam stated.

"Training," Bucky stated. "They...they kept notes on everything. Target practice, responding to commands...reconditioning, you name it. Ash was one of the first facilities but every so often I was sent on vacation throughout the country or outside the US. The notes they took were then refined three times a year to what words worked, which gun was the best, what didn't work for me...it had it all. Eventually, things became more concrete. Then the Red Book became the one thing that was always held over my head."

"So you kept those files just incase the Red Book was never to be found?"

"You always have to have a backup plan."

"You're not wrong," Sam stated, as he clicked his keyboard so the slide could change. Two employee ID photos stared back at the three of the, in the conference room. "Jason Capwell and Theresa Jones. Employees of Smithtown Research," Sam clicked the key again to a more gruesome photo of two people laying on the ground with white sheets over them. Agents in their blue wind breakers and bold yellow block letters stood around the area. Some were speaking into walkie-talkies, some looked visibly stressed. "Upon further examination of the Omaha site there were two causalities, just reports within the past twelve hours. I had to add this photo this morning right before we had the pleasure of meeting, James. We're dealing with more than just arson, now it's homicide and domestic terrorism," Sam looked at Bucky. "You now have another tick on your record."

"I didn't fucking kill them," Bucky clenched his hands. 

"James," Steve said. 

"Don't  _'James'_ me. You two very well know that blood isn't on my hands. I have enough to resupply the Red Cross," Bucky pushed himself away from the table and tried to walk out of the room, but Steve was right behind him. 

" _James, stop!_ " 

"What, _Steve_? You're going to stop me with your perfectly quaffed hair?" 

"No, I'm here to explain to you that you're _missing the goddamn point._ " 

Bucky shook his head. "All I heard is someone accusing me of something I clearly didn't do, but I mean that's pretty on par with your employer, so I'm not that fucking surprised."

"Because in the eyes of the FBI your mark is absolutely all of the place, and their souls," Steve talked over Bucky. Bucky pursed his lips in anger, and became quiet. "Ash, Idaho, Omaha - to the police or really any authority figure, these were all done by the same person. You," Steve sighed. "We are trying to show you that whoever is taking your place is racking up your time behind bars."

"Great, then I'll die in jail. Better than dying from a bullet."

"Don't you _fucking dare say that_ ," Steve's voice started to rise. 

" _Okay_ ," Sam said but Steve and Bucky continued. "Stop," Sam cut them both off. "First, keep it low, I'm not sure how thin the walls are here in this hotel. Second, Steve's right, James. I know I'm still skeptical about you, but I'm trying to help. We're trying to tell you that we're reaching a critical point where we need to find out where the absolute fuck this person is to apprehend him. There's no way you're not  _not_ -serving time but if we can get this shit sorted you'll be serving considerably less. Also," Sam cleared his throat, "no _threats of any kind_. I can't take that with a hotel full of civilians." Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "You've just earned a 24 hour watch. Congratulations."

Bucky didn't know what to do, so he channeled his frustration into the wall, creating a hole where the switch used to be, automatically causing the lights to turn off. Bucky ran off. Sam kept standing by the podium, and looked at Steve. "I have to talk to the hotel manager about an electrician bill because of a new 'accident' that just occurred," Sam used air quotes, "so I"m staying fucking here." 

Steve was out the door in seconds. 

He looked around the lobby, but only saw random guests walking around. He released his tensioned filled shoulders, and was about to go back to the conference room until he saw Bucky sitting by the pool on the excessively worn out plastic chairs.

*

Steve shut the door behind him, loud enough for Bucky to listen. He looked up to see Steve standing near, and rolling on his feet. 

Bucky took a long drag on his cigarette and blew out smoke.

"When did you start smoking?" Steve asked. 

"Afghanistan. Passed the time," Bucky replied. 

"You didn't do it in Falls Church."

"I smoke when I'm stressed. Wasn't stressed then. I'm stressed now."

Steve sat down on the chair near Bucky. "We're giving you options." Bucky took another drag of his cigarette and held it in between his lips. "We know everything up to Nebraska, but we're blind as a bat going forward. You're have our answers." 

"I don't want to leave here," Bucky stated quietly, after he took the cigarette out of his mouth and put it out on the cold stone. "I made a name for myself. I have a full time job."

Steve scratched the back of his neck. "A false name, and I don't know what will happen after all of this after Astoria. After this whole," Steve waved his hand at nothing in particular, "thing. What we know is that the only way to get back to as normal as we can get is to clear your name."

"I hate this fucking book," Bucky said quietly. 

"Me too," Steve sighed. 

"The next facility is either in Phoenix, or Arkansas. I get a little fuzzy around that time, but whoever is taking my place is going in the chronological order of my visits."

"Okay," Steve nodded. "That's a huge start," he smiled slightly. "Thank you."

Bucky didn't respond, but just kept looking over the patio, and the empty pool. "Is Sam serious about the twenty-four hour watch?"

'He is. He doesn't joke about that stuff."

"Is he..."

"I'll do it. The hotel's couches are comfortable." 

"Okay," Bucky looked around and sighed. "So, when are we leaving?"

"Are you sure you're in?"

"I don't think I have much of a choice, do I?" Bucky asked Steve, almost waiting for an answer that he already knew.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 29 - Early Morning Day 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All rights belong to Marvel

Steve knocked on Bucky’s door. The action felt familiar - almost deja vu-like - to him. It was like every single time he opened Bucky’s apartment door in Falls Church, like every single time he visited him in Brooklyn. He was always there - smiling back in some sort of capacity. 

When Bucky opened the door, this time, he wasn't smiling. His face was very telling that he was annoyed that Steve had to stay over. Bucky was wearing only sweatpants, and forgoed a t-shirt.  Steve felt overdressed in his flannel pajama pants and white shirt, tugging at the bottom of the white fabric to let a little cool air touch his skin, as he felt suddenly a little warm.

“Come right in,” Bucky stepped to the side. The room was clean, Steve noticing as he stepped into the room. Clothes were tucked away, ready to be placed in the duffle bag in a moment’s notice. “I got an extra blanket and pillow for the couch for you. There’s no pull-out, sorry.”

“Can only ask for so much,” Steve shrugged, before placing his phone on the coffee table, plugging it in, and sitting back on the couch. Bucky aimlessly walked around, before placing his phone by Steve’s before he returned to the comfort of his bed. 

“So what exactly does this entail?” Bucky sat on his bed, with his feet on the floor, watching Steve.  

“Me waking up every so often to make sure you’re still in this room,” Steve stopped and sat on the couch. “That’s what it entails. You’re a big asset to this case -”

“ _ Don’t  _ use that word,” Bucky cut in quickly.

“Okay,” Steve said. “You’re a big help to this case, and we can’t afford to lose you. I can’t afford to lose you.” 

Bucky didn’t react. “When did you know?”

“When did I know that you knew where the Red Book was?”

“No,” Bucky rolled his eyes. “When did you know…” Bucky waved his hand between the two of them, “about you and me.”

Steve blew a breath out of his mouth. “That’s going back pretty far, I think. High school?” Steve stopped to reminisce.

“That long ago?”

“Well, I’ve always been attracted to men,” Steve shrugged. “It wasn’t really out of the realm of possibility for me, personally, but I didn’t know about...you…”

“We’re in our thirties, Steve, you can say it,” Bucky stated, lightly. 

“I didn’t know you were also attracted to guys.”

Bucky shrugged. “I didn’t know either, until I was about twenty.” 

“If we were able to go back, if we both knew...do you think we would have been a thing?” Steve asked lightly.

Bucky sat quietly for a minute. “I don’t know - probably not. Too many variables."

Silence filled the air before Steve got up from the couch. “I’m just going to wash up - brush my teeth, you know the drill. I’m keeping the door open.” 

︾

Bucky stayed on the bed in the same position, practically twiddling his thumbs, until he heard the phone buzzing softly. Without thinking Bucky walked over to the coffee table and picked up what he thought was his. 

“Ben Williams,” he stated as his greeting.

“ _ Ben Williams? I swear I have the right number. Are you sure this isn’t Grant Rogers dazzling me with your amazing acting abilities?” _

Bucky pulled the phone from his ear - definitely not his phone.  _ Scott Lang? Who’s Scott Lang?,  _ Bucky thought. “No, this is his phone. Who is this?” 

“ _ Scott Lang. His friend from San Francisco.” _

Bucky walked over to the bathroom and knocked on the door to alert Steve. He tapped the mute button. A soft few hellos emanated from the speaker. “Your  _ friend _ Scott Lang is calling.” 

Steve looked up from the sink, with the toothbrush still in his mouth. “Shit,” Steve said as he spat out the foam, and wiped his face with his hand. He tapped the mute button again. “Hey Scott, it’s me, Grant,” Steve leaned on the door frame, letting the other man talk what almost sounded like a mile a minute. “That sounds great, but there’s a small hitch. I’m not going to be able to cover again at the club,” Steve almost looked embarrassed.

Bucky looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and mouthed the word ‘club’, with slight amusement. Steve just waved him off. “Yeah, I’m out of the city. In Portland.”

Bucky heard the other guy say “ _ Good for you! Take some vacation time. We’ll be here if and when you get back to the city.”  _

“Thanks Scott, have a good night. Say hello to the team for me,” Steve said before tapping the phone call off. 

Bucky peaked at Steve’s lock screen and walked back to the bed, and shimmied up to the wall, when he sat down. “So, Scott called you for a gig at the club, huh?” 

“I bounced there once. Money is money.”

“You’re a pretty high level agent at the FBI, I’m guessing you’re doing fine in that department,” Bucky pointed out.

“Not when you skip town,” Steve shrugged. “I think it’s time for bed.”

“Why do you have that photo on your phone?”

“Which photo - the Natural History one? When we went out?”

“Yeah. That day was-” Bucky closed his mouth. “Why do you still have it? After all...after all of this?” Bucky started to get aggravated. “That practically wasn’t even me - that...that was  _ him _ . Why would you-”

“Because for me, that was the best day I had in a long time. I finally had someone to share a day with. I had someone do all of that bullshit couple stuff I had seen on Facebook. Because, for once, my life felt  _ real. _ Every  _ aching _ day I sat in my empty bed, and wished for someone,  _ anyone _ , to be there. So,  _ yeah _ , that’s my lock screen. You’re not taking that away from me, because this is my sense of normalcy.” Steve placed his phone back on the coffee table, plugged it in, and got on the couch.

“ _ How could you say that  _ bullshit  _ was real, Steve?!  _ You were  _ fucking undercover. None of that shit was real!”  _

“ _Yes it was._ _All those kisses, all those touches? Those were real._ That assignment was the closest thing I got to just being me on a singular case,” Steve pulled the covers over half his body and got as comfortable as he could. 

“That’s the thing,  _ Steve.  _ The closest thing still  _ wasn’t you,”  _ Bucky said to Steve, who was now placing the pads of his hands on his eyes. “Whatever. You know what? Keep it. It serves as a reminder who we once were,” Bucky said, as he turned off the light, and went to bed.

︾

Steve woke up each time his phone was able to ring. Bucky seemed to be breathing lightly, and rhythmically. No screams. No twisting and turning. Just sleeping, and letting time slow down. Steve switched the rest of his alarms off. Bucky wasn’t going to do anything. Steve being there was a precautionary measure, and Bucky fine. Him sprinting off as soon as it hit eight in the morning was a different story.

Steve peeled the covers off, and grabbed his phone. He looked at the lock screen. 

Bucky was right.

He was  _ always _ right. 

He fiddled with his phone and changed it back to the standard screen. 

Steve got out of his makeshift bed, gathered his stuff, and opened the door, before he heard Bucky shift. 

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice was rough, and he tried clearing his throat. “Where you going?”

“Hey, get back to sleep. I was just going back to my room. It’s stupid that I’m here.”

“ _ You’re _ stupid, not the idea that you’re here. You’re following orders.”

"At this point, I should only be following my own.  We all know you’re not endangering others. Before I go, I just want to know you’re… you’re right. I changed the lock screen,” Steve said as he started to close the door.

“Thank you for changing the screen,” Bucky paused, as he watched Steve practically stop in his tracks.  Bucky sighed and shifted over in his bed to make more room. “Don’t close the door, and come back. Come back,” Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose, “because this is the best sleep I’ve had since Falls Church,” Bucky stared at Steve. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m still pissed at you, but -” Bucky pursed his lips, and sighed, “but, you’re seeing my side. Back in Falls Church when you were around, even when you were only across the hall, you helped me sleep. If you leave this room, I swear I’ll be screaming, and not in the way I want to.”

“Oh my God,” Steve just rolled his eyes.

“Look, four more hours? Then you can go back to your room, wash up and all and then we can head South.”

The tension in Steve’s shoulder’s dissipated as he walked back into the room. He set his phone down on the nightstand, and got into the bed. “This is a lot better than the couch.” 

“That couch is one of the worst I’ve even seen, and I’m slept on a lot.”

Steve turned his body away from Bucky, facing the wall. “I’m sure you have,” he said, finally allowing sleep to overtake him. “Goodnight, Bucky.”

“Goodnight, Steve.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 30

Steve woke up with Bucky’s face in the crook of his neck. Soft warm breaths were being slightly left on Steve’s, with the intimacy and closeness leaving Steve to be hard as a rock at - Steve reached over to his phone to check the time - 7:25 in the morning. Needing to take care of the situation that was currently happening, he silently thanked himself for wearing boxers underneath his sweatpants. Steve shifted himself some more, turning over, causing Bucky to wake up. 

Bucky rolled over, groaned, and rubbed his eyes. “Sorry about that,” Bucky said, realizing the physical contact they made, as he wiped a small dab of drool from the corner of his mouth. 

“No worries,” Steve removed his part of the blanket, making sure his body was shifted away from Bucky, and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think of...something else. “Hey, I’m going to pack up. You should probably get ready for work -”

“What time is it?” Bucky groaned.

“Seven thirty-two.”

“ _ Fuck,” _ Bucky shoved the covers off of himself and almost ran to his drawer. “I’m going to be late for work - I’m never late for work.”

“James?” Steve asked, but got no response. “ _James_ _.”  _ The other man was halfway putting his shirt on when he paused to look at Steve. “Are you sure you want to leave this city?”

Bucky shucked his pajama pants off for his jeans. “I don’t. I  _ really  _ don’t want to leave. But,” he zipped up his jeans, “someone is using my image by creating a bigger mess. To kill people,” He shoved his feet into his boots. “I don’t want to leave, but like I said. I don’t think I have much of a choice. Fuck, I still have to pack -”

“I can do that for you.”

“Okay.”

“2pm. Sam and I will pick you up.”

“I have to pay for the last week or so at the hotel and-”

“The FBI can foot the bill.”

“Okay,” Bucky finished putting on his shoes, and grabbed his jacket and glove. “Take care of your glaring erection before you pick me up. See you later, Steve,” Bucky winked, leaving Steve flushed down his neck.

︾

Bucky walked through the office door to the shop, cursing himself slightly that he forgot to use his rain jacket. He wiped down the water that was still on his skin, as he stood inside Carol’s office. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Honestly, I was worried,” Carol looked up at Bucky, and sipped her coffee.

“Really?”

“No, you’re literally,” she looked at her phone, “five minutes late. Like a normal human, Ben.”

Bucky pulled out the chair that was in front of him. “How’s it looking for today?” 

“Not too bad. Just one popped tire. Have to replace the whole thing though, since the idiot drove on the rims to save a few extra bucks.”

“How about tomorrow?”

Carol squinted at Bucky. “We’ll see what the rain brings. Why are you asking about tomorrow’s tasks all of a sudden?” She took another sip of her drink.

“Probably because today’s gonna be my last day here.”

Carol choked on the coffee that was halfway down her throat. “Give a girl a warning, Williams.”

“Sorry.”

“Why?”

“That’s not important.”

“Usually, if you’re quitting a job day of, it’s kind of important.”

“I’m an international assassin, chasing someone who is posing as me to try and get away with blowing up a bunch of buildings, causing casualties. I need to run off and find them before they kill anyone else.”

“This isn’t SVU - we don’t make up lies to quit jobs based off of headlines, Double-Oh-Seven. Tell me the truth. Did Quill offer you a job across town, because if he’s stealing my best mechanic, I swear to God, I will punch him square in the face.”

Bucky sighed. At least he got that off his chest. “My mother is sick,” Bucky paused  _ just _ long enough. “ _ Real _ sick. I just gotta make sure she’s comfy.”

“Oh.”

“I’m here until 2pm. My boyfriend is going to pick me up.”

“Good on you, Williams.”

“Thank you.”

“For taking care of your mom. I think your husband would also be happy you learned to not forget him, but to make a life for yourself.”

_ Oh yeah,  _ Bucky thought as he vaguely remembered his fake sprawling story about his past life. He dropped his head, so he was looking at his knees, making sure to add a sniffle or two to make the picture look complete. He looked back up. “I think he would be happy too.”

“Gonna miss you Williams, but we still have a full day ahead. How long have you and your new guy been together?”

“A couple of weeks, but really it’s been kind of unofficial. We haven’t really made any decisions as to who we are yet. He’s the one with the car that can drive me to PDX.”

“Valid. So,” Carol clapped her hands together. “We have only six or so hours before you have to swing on out of here. Let’s make the most of it.”

“We’re going to Dennis’ for lunch, aren’t we?”

“We are sure as  _ hell _ going to Dennis’ for lunch,” Carol smiled. 

*

The day was slow, thankfully. They finished the last tire change that needed to be completed, and headed over to Dennis’ bar. 

Two beers, a simple lunch, and both of them were ready to close the shop back up. Carol checked her phone. “Time’s coming up, Ben,” she said as he leaned back into her chair. “I know this is selfish of me, but I really wish your mother wasn’t sick. You’re the best mechanic I’ve ever worked with.”

Bucky smiled softly. “I can tell you with all honesty, that the title should still belong with you. You have been the best boss. Thank you.” 

Carol smiled back. “If she gets better, so much so that you’re able to leave her, any chance you can come back? Get up back into the mechanic’s game and show what Quill’s  _ Guardian’s Auto Shop _ what we got?”

“Absolutely. We’ll show them what we got.” 

There was a knock at the office door. Carol walked over and opened it, showing Steve, standing with his windbreaker jacket and cap. He gave a small smile, and a soft hello to Bucky, and practically Bucky alone. 

“Hey, Grant, this is Carol. My, uh, my old boss,” Bucky said trying to not stare at Steve...to much.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Steve smiled gave a handshake. 

Carol raised her eyebrows, and looked at Bucky. “Is he serious?”

“I’m afraid so,” Bucky responded. Carol laughed, and gave Steve a handshake back. 

“Nice to meet you too, sir,” she mocked Steve’s formal tone. Bucky grabbed his jacket and shrugged it on. “Ben, I know you’re not a hugging type of person,” Carol started to say again, Bucky rolled his eyes. Bucky opened his arms. 

“Only for you, Carol...and Grant, but that’s about it.”

Bucky saw Steve furrowed his eyebrows, and gave Carol a hug. He turned the both of them around so Bucky saw Steve, and mouthed the words  _ ‘I told her we were dating. Sorry.’ _

_ ‘Thanks for the heads up.’  _ Steve mouthed back as he rolled his eyes slightly. 

“Please come back, Ben.” Carol’s voice strained. 

“I’ll try my best,” Bucky said, and let go. “Thank you. Really and truly, thank you. You’ve helped me more than you think.” He walked over to Steve, and who took his role immediately. Bucky felt his large hands on his shoulders which released the tension in Bucky’s back. It was something that he didn’t want to admit he missed from Falls Church. 

“Alright, as much as I don’t want to speed up this goodbye between the two of you,” Steve stated, “you have to catch a flight, and I’m not sure how long we can delay this two hour drive to PDX. Thank you for helping him, Carol,” Steve said, as Bucky felt Steve’s hand drift downward to his hip, feeling Steve’s hand apply some stability. Bucky automatically leaned in.

“Goodbye, and good luck. I’ll still be texting you,” Carol laughed. 

“...and I’ll still roll my eyes whenever you do,” Bucky smiled. Steve opened the door, backed up and waved goodbye, and Bucky gave a salute before heading out the door. “See you, ‘round, Captain.” 

Carol gave one back, and then waved right as the door closed. Steve gave Bucky another one armed hug as they walked back to the car, and gave a quick soft kiss to Bucky’s temple. A small private moment. A small moment that Bucky knew that Carol wasn’t watching and Sam was still fiddling with his phone. It was like they were the only two in the world.

A moment that Bucky missed from before. A moment that he wished that didn’t end. 

Steve and Bucky both got into the car, and buckled themselves in. Sam adjusted the driver’s seat, looked at Steve, and glanced at Bucky in the mirror. “All good?”

“Yeah,” Steve spoke for the both of them, as Bucky lay his head on the carseat, and closed his eyes, “we’re good to go.”

*


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 30 to Day 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals with adult themes. Explicit tag has already been added before, but it still applies. 
> 
> All rights belong to Marvel.

Steve felt Sam stop the car. He rubbed his eyes, and stretched a bit, before opening his eyes and looking around. “Are we in Arizona, yet?”

“Nevada.” Sam answered, “Gotta get some gas. You want anything from the mini mart?”

“What time is it?” Bucky asked from the back. 

“Eight P.M.” 

“Can I have a bag of chips, or something? I’m not that hungry, but could use a snack?” Steve asked.

“That’s it?” Sam questioned. 

“Is there a full sandwich shop in there?”

“Bag of chips it is.”

“Make it two, thanks,” Bucky quietly said from the back of the car. Sam closed the door, and walked back over to the gas station pump started to fill the car back up before heading into the mini mart. Steve noticed Bucky looking at him through the rearview mirror. 

“Everything good?” Steve turned around.

“How’d you get so...big?” Bucky furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Seems like you’ve been wanting to ask that question for a while, and I’ll have you know it’s classified information.”

“Just fucking get on with it Rogers,” Bucky’s voice was exasperated. 

Steve chuckled. “When I was in the hospital, back in high school, I was in there longer than they expected. They put me in a medically induced coma because certain things weren’t responding properly. I remember hearing your voice slightly, but it honestly felt like a dream. Because I was in there for a few months, the insurance my folks had somehow didn’t renew and got stuck with some medical bills intermittently. They couldn't afford any treatment within that month, so I was put into this experimental trial. Free of cost for my folks, and I survived. Started to breathe better, see better. The doctor said it was a miracle that everything was practically cured...I was six-foot-two by the end of the semester. Tall and skinny. When my parents died while I was in school, I went to the gym. Escapism, really, but I packed on the muscle easy. There’s a few side effects too but nothing bad. I can heal up pretty quickly.” 

“Huh,” Bucky replied. “School?”

“Kingsborough. Kind of felt guilty about the money stress. I was going to apply to the NYU art program, but that kind of fell through when, well you know. I wanted to continue with it, but I couldn’t make a living off of just art. Other people can, sure, but not me,” Steve sighed. “It was nice getting back into it, even if for a few months.”

“I remember back in high school, vaguely, you took art for like half a year and you got so into it. You’d always had at least one sketchbook with you at all times. Even if it was just for doodling.” 

“You remember that?”

“It just always stuck.”

Sam opened the car door and sat down, holding a full plastic bag and cup of coffee. “I got y’all a few options because of the vagueness.” 

Steve took the bag and opened it up, rifling through. “There’s only Sun Chips in here.”

“Don’t be so vague about what type of chip you want then,” Sam took a sip of his coffee, before settling it down and getting back out of the car. He finished up at the pump and returned. “We’re going to have to find a motel because I’m not going to make it for an all night drive. We need sleep, especially for whoever we’re dealing with.” 

*

The car rolled up to a small motel. The vacancy sign swung in the light breeze. 

“This place is creepy,” Bucky said as he shifted out of the car. 

“Suck it up, Barnes,” Sam replied, “It’s either this place with a bed, or the car.”

Bucky kept quiet as he hoisted his duffle bag out of the trunk, and walked into the motel lobby. Bucky put on a smile as he approached the older woman sitting at the front desk. “Hi, good evening.”

“Good evening,” she replied.

“Uh, I was looking for three rooms? If you had any?”

“We only have two left, is that okay?”

Bucky sighed. “Yeah, that’s...that’s fine.” 

He paid for the rooms in cash, grabbed the keys and headed back outside. Sam and Steve were waiting outside idly talking to one another when Bucky tossed Sam his room key. “Got the last two rooms. See you in the morning, Sam.”

“What about me?” Steve asked.

“You want to sleep with Sam or me?” Bucky kept walking toward the room.

“Goodnight, Sam,” Steve said before he walked off and followed suit.

*

Bucky changed out of his day clothes, and into his night wear. He sat down on the squeaky bed, and let the weight of the world escape his body, and allowed himself to become tired. 

Steve shut the light off in the bathroom, and re-emerged into the area. “So what side to you like again?”

“Left side,” Bucky said, as he felt the bed dip, as Steve sat down. Silence filled the room. 

“So,” Steve said, as he put the rest of his body on the bed.

“So,” Bucky echoed. 

“Back in...prison,” Steve started. 

“What a way to start the evening.”

“Back in prison, you said something about never being able to forgive me,” Steve finished. “Is that still true?” Bucky’s turned his back to Steve, not answering. “Or we can work to something that is forgiveness?” 

“Steve,” Bucky only said, but there was no return. “We really just can’t clean the slate. There’s no...no tabula rasa. Like I said, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do that. To forgive you clean,” Bucky stopped. He needed to chose his words carefully. It was a difficult path he was trying to choose. No clean starts, but they did hit rock bottom, and from rock bottom, they can only move up. Bucky understood the lengths Steve was going for him - opening up the doors for him to be free, but knowing that it was Bucky’s fight at the same time. Steve was stepping aside, and clearing the path - letting him complete his journey to be able to get to something greater. “The past...it  _ happened _ and we can’t forget about that. It’s...it’s like a rip in the jeans. Obviously something happened to make the rip occur, but,” Bucky sighed, “there are ways we can repair it. A patch to cover things up, or we can put in the work to bring those two pieces back together,” Bucky looked back towards Steve, and saw his eyes staring right back up on him. Steve shifted so he was sitting on the bed. “It’s gonna to take a while, but I think there are places we can start.” 

“Are...are you thanking me for the help?” Steve asked with a lighter tone.

“I think I am,” Bucky said. “We have...we have the beginnings of a foundation. We have a starting point. True trust takes time, so maybe not today, not tomorrow, but maybe months from now, we’re going to be in a different place.” 

Steve smirked, and tentatively placed his hand on Bucky’s back. Bucky closed his eyes from the soft physical contact, and leaned back into Steve’s touch. He turned and faced Steve, and brought his face closer to his, smelling the slight minty breath that Steve had after brushing his teeth. 

“This is a pretty bold place to lay the groundwork,” Steve muttered, before smirking. 

“Is that a yes, or no?” 

“It’s a yes,” Steve smiled, and Bucky placed his lips over Steve’s. The kiss was soft at first, almost as though he was making sure this was what Steve wanted. Steve kissed back deepening it, and moved his hands towards Bucky’s face. Bucky lowered himself back onto the bed, letting Steve get a better angle. He felt Steve’s beard on top of his shaven face, creating a friction that lit up Bucky’s nerves. 

Bucky gently placed his hands at Steve’s waist, almost positioning him on top. A low moan escaped Bucky’s mouth. He’s wanted this for... _ God knows _ how long. He felt Steve’s hand travel from his chin to his neck, further down until it reached the waistband of Bucky’s. Steve shifted his body, straddling the other man. Steve stopped the kiss briefly, causing Bucky to furrowed his eyebrows.

“You’re really going to leave me like this?” Bucky said. Steve shifted his weight onto his knees, so he was able to place his hand that rested on Bucky’s cheek to the side, and bend down and kissed him deeply again. His hand by Bucky’s waist dipped below the band, drawing his hand down his ass.  Steve broke the kiss again to move down Bucky’s neck, and suck on his collarbone. Bucky’s breath hitched, as Steve gently brought his hand over Bucky’s hardening cock, over his sweatpants. “ _ Oh.”  _

“I’m wearing too many clothes, it’s starting to feel unfair.” Steve took his shirt off, and Bucky immediately placed his flesh hand onto Steve’s waist, pulling him back down, so his full weight was on Bucky. He shifted under Steve, and Steve stared back at him. “I don’t have anything on me.”

“That’s fine, we can work around that,” Bucky’s metal arm drifted down Steve’s body. 

“I can’t tell you how much I wanted this after the gallery,” Steve muttered. He kissed Bucky again, but this time it was softer, more intimate. 

“Then  _ show _ me, you punk,” Bucky smirked as he broke apart the kiss, “Give me something for my twenty year old self to jack off to in the middle of the desert.”

Steve cocked an eyebrow, still on top of Bucky. “You shouldn’t have given me that challenge.” 

“Shouldn’t or should’ve?” 

Steve smiled and kissed Bucky’s chin, before moving down Bucky’s body once again. He reached the edge of Bucky’s waistband, and moved the pants further down, exposing his hardening length. In one sweeping motion, Steve took Bucky into his mouth. Bucky’s words got caught in his throat. His hand went to the back of Steve’s head, feeling the motion of him moving up and down. The pleasure was almost blinding, and he could feeling the warmth pooling  in his abdomen. Steve placed his hands on Bucky’s scrotum, massaging them lightly as Steve reached the tip. 

“Steve,” Bucky gasped each time Steve brought himself up. “I’m  _ going to, _ ” was all Bucky could get out before pushing his head back into the pillow, arching his back and releasing himself, all while watching Steve swallow him whole. 

*

They woke up from their aggressive alarm, tangled in each other. Bucky groaned from the sunlight peeking through the window, and shining right into his eyes. “Why can’t we just stay here forever - you’re really warm.”

“A furnace,” Steve mumbled into Bucky’s neck and tentatively placed a kiss. “We’re headed to Arizona today.”

“Like I could forget.”

“Sam’s gonna be knockin’ on the door in thirty minutes,” Steve said, still not moving. 

“So we have another twenty minutes to do whatever we want.”

“As much as I want to fuck you, I’m really enjoying this moment of pure domesticity.” 

“I was asking if we can sleep a little while longer, but sure, Rogers, keep getting your head stuck in the gutter.”

Steve wrapped his hands around Bucky’s waist and pulled him closer. “I almost like that idea better.” 

*

Bucky and Steve washed up, not letting the small spaces get to them. They shared the bathroom while washing up - Bucky taking a shower, and Steve brushing his teeth and definitely not following the line of Bucky’s exposed back through the mirror as he went to go and get dressed. After packing their bags, they headed back out to the car, and waited for Sam.

“Do we tell him?” Bucky asked. 

“Tell him that we hooked up?” Steve responded with the question.

“Yeah.”

Steve leaned on the car, and chewed on the inside of his lip. “He’ll figure it out within the first five minutes.”

*


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 31 to Day 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All rights belong to Marvel.

Bucky hummed as he watched the wire fences zoom on by, sitting the backseat of the car. He kept looking in Sam’s mirror. There were things he was seeing,  _ thought _ he was seeing, as they kept driving down the empty road. Every so often he would see a car that wasn’t quite there. Or a car that would be close, following behind, but then automatically turning when the next intersection came. All of a sudden, a new car would appear. A new car, but just similar enough to seem it was the same, was following. 

He was paranoid again. He was thinking about all the worst ways this could go wrong. 

They could be followed and killed at the next stop. They could be taken in by the Feds, well the  _ other  _ Feds, and taken straight to jail. 

Sam could die.

Steve could die.

He could...could die. 

Bucky’s mind was spinning fast between all the ideas, he didn’t even realize Sam pulling up to the abandoned facility lot. “Could this be one of the places they brought you to?” Sam asked as he peered out of the fogged up rainy window. Bucky leaned forward and rested himself on the console, lightly touching Steve’s arm. 

“Yeah, this is the Phoenix one,” Bucky said. 

“So, we’re ahead of the game?” 

“I mean, that’s not entirely true. There are at least maybe twenty other sites that they could be going to.”

“Well, they wouldn’t take a plane. Too many cameras, plus they have a shit ton of explosives with them so, they would probably get caught. The closest facility from Omaha is here.”

“You have your pals from the FBI at the other possible locations, don’t you?” Bucky asked Sam with almost zero inflection. 

Sam pursed his lips. “Look,” he breathed out sharply, “I think we’re at the right one, and if the other FBI agents are at the other possible sites, let’s just call it a coincidence.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Who’s up for some Taco Bell?” Sam asked, trying to steer the conversation to something new.

*

The motel they secured for the rest of the night was small - smaller than the one they booked before. Bucky and Steve barely fit on the bed, but the two of them managed.  Half of Bucky’s body was draped over Steve’s, and he traced small circles on his chest. 

“You’re too quiet,” Bucky broke the silence. “You’re going to ask me something personal, aren’t you?”

Steve raised his eyebrows to his hairline. “Am I that predictable?”

“A little bit.”

“Well, since you’re now the psychic one, the floor is all yours,” Steve smiled. 

“Punk,” Bucky chuckled, and shifted in the bed. “I...I don’t think I want to talk about anything personal though.”

“Okay,” Steve looked at Bucky, and Bucky looked right back at Steve.

“I just don’t want you-”

“James, you don’t have to explain anything to me. If you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to talk about it.”

“Okay,” Bucky sighed, and allowed themselves to get comfortable in the bed too small for two large men. “Hey, Steve?”

“Hm?” he responded half asleep.

“Can you promise me something?”

“Only if I know what you’re going to ask.”

“Whatever happens in the next couple of days or however long it takes to find that goddamn book. If I somehow revert back to The Ghost -”

Steve sat up in bed. “You’re not going to revert back to The Ghost - I won’t let you become him again.”

“I know you won’t but that’s not really how this whole situation works. We just can’t make those words disappear in my head with the snap of a finger. Whoever we encounter will, no matter what, have the upper hand. If something were to happen I need to you fight back. None of this bullshit because we’re...whatever we are. If it gets to the point where you need to kill -”

_ “Bucky _ -”

Bucky got out of the bed and ran his hands over his head as he started pacing, “ _ if you need to kill me _ ,” Bucky stopped in his place, “I’m giving you permission to do so.” 

Steve sat up in the bed with the covers still cover his legs, but then moved out of the bed. “Okay,” he said as he rested his hands over Bucky’s arms, and tentatively pulled him in close. Bucky closed his eyes, breathing deeper than usual. “Okay.”

*

The three of them all sat around a table at the local diner. The day passed without any news, thankfully, which allowed them to rest before they infiltrate the facility. 

Sam stuck his fork into some eggs, and dipped them into a small amount of ketchup before he pointed the fork at the two men across from him. “So how are we supposed to get in?” 

Bucky wiped his mouth, with a napkin, before taking a sip of his coffee. “Did you just dip your eggs in ketchup?”

“Yeah, so?” 

“You’re ruining the integrity of eggs.”

“I like my eggs, like I like my eggs,” Sam stated.

“Anyway,” Steve interjected, and Bucky sighed.

“Through the side. There’s a wooded area that covers up a side door - not many people know about it except some executives that take it if they don’t want to be seen getting in and out of the building,” Bucky explained.

“How would you know?” Sam asked, innocently.

“Too public of a space. You know why.”

Sam just raised an eyebrow. Steve turned his paper placemat over, and grabbed a crayon from the cup on the table and started to draw some schematics. “Where’s the space where...you hung out with your crew?” Steve asked as he saw a few kids walk by. 

“Basement. Three flights of stairs down, and third down on the right.”

“Where the best point to throw the confetti?”

“You mean,” Bucky motioned something expanding with his hands, and Sam nodded. “Not there. Best point of confetti options are opposite side of the building, but depend what you want to do. Implode? Right in the center. Place has a bunch of hot water heaters dead center. Blow that into a nice big balloon and it’ll come crashing down. If the other person is carrying it out though, they’re gonna want to probably head straight for the conference room on the fourth floor,” Bucky said, as he took a sip of his coffee, as both Steve and Sam just looked at him. “Again, experience. South corner conference room, I think there should still be a bullet somewhere in one of walls.”

“The place is made of concrete,” Sam flatly stated. 

“Thus, bullet still in wall.”

Steve finished up his quick schematic on the placemat and flattened it so everyone could look. “So we’ll split up,” Steve pointed first to the stairwell. “We will all enter through here, and then split up. Sam, Bucky you’ll go to the basement, and I’ll go to the fourth floor. We can only think that maybe they will go straight there.”

“I don’t need backup.”

Steve chewed on his lip. “We’re dealing with a domestic terrorist that is following your every move. You don’t necessarily  _ need _ backup, but if we’re dealing with Zola, you at least have to have someone watch your six. This isn’t about who the best shot is, but about safety. I don’t want those risks, and I definitely don’t want those risks on my hands.”

“How’s everyone’s meal?” the waitress stopped by, with an overtly happy disposition. 

*

Sam popped the trunk of his car. 

“So, we’re going to hide in your trunk?” Bucky asked.

“No, dumbass,” he quickly responded, and lifted up a second door. Underneath hid a small artillery of guns. 

“Not as much as what I held back in my place, but it’s a good start,” Bucky picked up a Glock, “Good weight to these.”

“Isn’t this a rental?” Steve asked, as he walked to the car, after he was done texting. “How’d you get all this into here?”

“I have my ways,” Sam rolled on the balls of his feet, and Bucky took two of the guns and extra bullets.

“I guess it’s time to suit up,” Bucky said, as walked away, cocking one of the gun, and slipping it into the back of his pants.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All rights belong to Marvel.

The sun dipped down below the horizon, letting the city become engulfed in darkness.

Bucky was changing into the last bit of clothes that weren’t dirty from days of not being near a laundromat, but he started to feel closed in. Like he was pushed into a small room and someone threw away the key, leaving him there to scratch at the door without anyone coming to him.

His vision became tight. He was only focusing on his task.

Jeans.

T-Shirt.

Shoes.

Weapons.

It was strange going into something without his tactical gear. He felt almost empty not putting on his get up that he always wore.

That they always made him wear.

Bucky grabbed his two guns and extra ammo and walked out of his room.

︾

Steve walked out of the room, trying to calm his nerves. Sam’s clothes were the closest thing he had to a uniform to wear, and they were marginally just _too_ tight, but he elected to wear them. He needed to fight in something that wasn’t just jeans.

The drive to the facility was tense. No one spoke, and just stared at the road ahead, until Sam put the car in park. Sam got out of the car and did a sweep of the lot, before opening up the driver’s door.

“Nothing here at least. You two go in, sweep the main floor, and then we will continue after I hide the car,” Sam directed, and Steve and Bucky followed suit. As they walked up to the door, they kept their guns low and out of site, and moved to the side of the building. Trees and thick shrubbery hid the path to the door.

As Steve walked up, he tested the strength and integrity of the door. It wouldn’t budge. Bucky audibly sighed behind him before pushing Steve behind him and shooting right at the keyhole. With smoke coming out of the door, it swung open, Bucky walked in and Steve followed.

“Place became abandoned after my last show. I showed up here for recalibration and it was empty.  I don’t think the company wanted to have the harbinger of death on their consciousness every day.”

Steve walked slowly, with Bucky just behind him. Gun low and to the side, he checked half the rooms in the main level. Steve wanted to argue, but it wasn’t the time to do so. “Left wing, clear,” Steve stated.

“Right wing, clear,” Bucky responded.

Bucky headed back to the door, to flag down Sam, and Steve drew his gun again, pointing it downwards. “Hey, you and Sam go downstairs, and I’ll check the mid-level conference room like we discussed.”

Bucky paused by the entrance. “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

Steve bit his lip, and looked at the pitch black doorway, and looked back at Bucky. “Me either.”  

︾

Sam led himself and Bucky down to the basement as they cleared each room to try and make sure no quick attacks were coming.

“Why are we going down to the dungeon again?” Sam asked, concern in his voice.

“Well, considering the fact that they used to play with my brain, and electrocute me here, I would think that the book would be in the area, _especially_ if they were drawing me back.”

“How many books are there?”

“One.”

“Why only one? What if they lost it? Even in Ash they had a whole safe that had all the backup files,” Sam knocked down a door, pointed his gun and walked around the perimeter before walking back. “Room clear. They would be screwed if it ever dropped into the ocean or some shit like that.”

The words echoed in the long abandoned hallway, as they turned the corner. Bucky stopped in his tracks.

The door, painted bright red, was just in front of him.

*

Bucky twisted the door knob and stood back as it swung open. Sam stepped in first, and Bucky tailed, both pointing their guns to the empty room.

Well, not empty, per say.

Personless.

Sam didn’t let the large machine by the back corner distract him as he did a perimeter sweep, and became less on edge. “Room clear. What is this place?”

“Recalibration room.”

“This is a place for torture, not ‘recalibration’,” Sam used some air quotes after he placed his gun back in his holster. “What did they do to you?”

“I remember bits and pieces. Tasers, drugs. The more dangerous stuff they did to me I wasn’t conscious. Or at least _I_ wasn’t conscious, but the other guy was.”

“Dear _Lord_ ,” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, “how the _fuck_ are you even alive?”

Bucky just shrugged. “Magic?”

“If only that was real,” Sam said, and Bucky chuckled. The atmosphere changed, it became thicker and more tense. Something in the background switched on, and the hairs on Bucky’s neck stood up.

He hadn’t felt this in months. _Months._

An old television switched on, and a face that made his gut drop appeared right in the center.

“ _Well, isn’t this a nice surprise,”_ Zola spoke through the television and looked at Bucky, dead in the eyes. “ _It’s nice to see you again, James.”_

With the sound of his name, Bucky’s metal arm shifted, and he pulled it back, before letting his fist collide with the glass. He breathed, angry that his name was coming out of Zola’s mouth again. There was a minute, only a minute, that he was able to pull his fist out of the television, and drew his gun, before Zola’s face popped up on another hidden television. Sam cocked his gun and stood at attention.

“At this point, I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but we’re still following each other orders,” Sam muttered.

“Understood,” Bucky said.

“ _It’s been how long?” Zola asked._

 _“_ Not long enough,” Bucky replied under his breath.

“ _Oh, you and your jokes, James,”_ Zola responded.

“He can’t hear us,” Sam whispered.

“ _I sure can, Samuel Wilson,”_ Zola smiled into the camera. “ _You know, it’s very nice to finally see what you look like. I’ve heard and read so much about you. You’re quite the agent.”_

“Fuck you.”

“ _Oh, you’re so nice. I’m sure you kiss your mother with that mouth.”_

 _“_ Don’t you _dare_ bring my mother into this, you _fucking asshole._ ”

“ _Don’t worry about calling me names, Samuel Wilson, I know all about that. My mother wasn’t as nice to me as yours was to you. Same goes for you, James.”_

“Don’t try and change the subject, Zola,” Bucky gritted out.

︾

Steve walked up the stairs slowly. He tried to make sure to walk up every step without hitting a loose board. He wanted to be quiet as possible. The floor was dusty. The thin light from the street lamps that was able to filter through the blinds, showed the dust floating down, like it was snowing in Brooklyn. It was calm. He walked around the perimeter of the floor, thankful that all but the rooms in the back were surrounded by glass.

︾

_“Silly me. I’m sure you’re here to find the book. Am I right? To find the one thing that can control you, that can turn you into the monster that you truly are. Is that right James?”_

Bucky didn’t answer.

“ _Well, I’ll have you know it’s not here_.”

“How do you know that? You’re what, probably thousands of miles away, and you couldn’t possibly know.”

Another television turned on, and Zola’s voice doubled. “ _I’m closer than you think, James. Ah, yes. The book. The red leather book that contains all the wonderful secrets to your brain.”_

︾

Steve kicked the first office door open, gun straight in front of him, to just an empty room, with the blinds still drawn. Steve started to worry. It seemed like he got the strategy wrong. That there would be another facility, miles away, getting destroyed and having to start with cold leads again. Steve moved onto the next room and opened the door slowly, with his gun still drawn revealing a larger room. No office chairs, nothing.

Something was off.

Something was very off when Steve heard the door click close.

︾

_“Well, I do have to tell you, James. I lied. Slightly. The book isn’t here. Specifically in this room.”_

“What?” Bucky questioned to the second television.

“ _This room, you remember it?”_

“Can’t forget it.”

“ _Good.”_

 _“_ Fuck you.”

“ _Not this again. No, James. This isn’t quite what you remember. You definitely remember this room, but just like everything else in this situation, it’s more than one. There were always two rooms, James.”_

“What?” Bucky’s voice was soft.

︾

Steve turned around, and didn’t see Zola.

He saw...he saw.

Steve quickly pointed a gun at the man. “Don’t move.”

The other man laughed and took a long rod from behind his back and flicked a switch. Steve backed up as the other man approached. “I don’t follow directions from you, buddy. It’s the other way around, now.”

︾

“ _This room wasn’t the real room, James. We always put you under before going to the real one.”_

Bucky shot at the television, destroying one of the screens. Zola’s face just kept duplicating through the room. “ _You can’t destroy me, James. I’m always going to be here.”_

Sam ran to the door. “Where was the other room, Zola?”

“ _Let’s just say, there was a lot of glass.”_

“ _Steve,”_ Bucky said hurriedly, as Sam pulled on the door.

︾

Steve yelled in pain, and the man that was now hovering over him just grinned and closed the door. As it closed, a small sliver of light caught the wood door and shined a light on the red paint that was chipping away.

︾

The door didn’t budge. “ _Open the fucking door, what the fuck are you doing?”_ Bucky yelled.

“It won’t _fucking open,”_ Sam yelled back.

Bucky pointed his gun back at the television. “ _What the fuck did you do?”_

“ _You’ll soon find out, James,”_ Zola grinned before the television sets went to black.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 33
> 
> 6 Hours later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All rights belong to Marvel

He opened his eyes to a man with a device in hand, and a red book in the other. 

“Where are we?” he asked the man, losing the tie around his neck. 

Why was he wearing a tie? He doesn’t remember being at work. 

What did he do for work?

“It doesn’t matter,” the other man’s voice drifted off, “Do you know who you are?”

The man tried to think. There were images. There were flashes of...something, but he couldn’t quite put it together. “No…?” 

“Wrong answer,” the man in front of him said before putting the device to his neck and tasing him. 

He screamed in pain, but then tried to control his breathing because something in his conscious told him to stop or he would be punished again. The man stood up stretched his neck. “No, I don’t know who I am.”

“Good,” the man across from him smiled. “You’re a quick learner. I have a mission for you. Pass this, and we’ll think about getting you a new uniform.”

︾

Zola’s face left the screens as soon as both Bucky and Sam realized that the door was reinforced and locked. The images burned in Bucky’s mind. He leaned back in the wooden chair that was found stashed by the back wall. Sam paced by the door. 

“If you keep walking by it every hour, nothing will change. It’s not motion activated,” Bucky said. 

“I can pace if I want,” Sam said quietly back.

“I’m well aware you can pace if you want, but what you want to do is really _fucking annoying_.”

“ _ What’s  _ your deal?” Sam asked. “Why do you always have to choose a fight with me?”

“ _ Because  _ I can  _ choose _ to pick a fight,” Bucky bit back. “Look, I know you have all these files of me -  _ him _ \- sitting in your office, collecting dust or whatever, but you were hunting me down. Of course I’m going to have reservations about you.”

“I’m the good guy, here.”

“Are you?” Bucky questioned. “Are you really? Because I’ll have you know not many consider the FBI  _ the good guys. _ ” Sam dropped his head. “I was living a life. I was making a living. I didn’t have my head screwed on right because of  _ these assholes who are keeping us locked up in a room, _ ” Bucky tried to yell loudly so someone could hear him, but was only met with the echoes of his own voice. “Steve’s doing a lot that he doesn’t have to do.”

Sam sat down and leaned his body against the wall. “Pretty sure he’s wanted too.”

“Wonderful. How about you? You’re helping an assassin and a rogue FBI agent.”

“Nah, I’m on assignment.”

“Your director allowed this?”

“You fucking kidding? Absolutely not. But the art department is one of the best, and damn do they have his signature down,” Sam chuckled. “I remember sharing a drink, after the gallery opening, with him,” Sam sat down on the cold concrete. “I remember talking to him, and he felt so conflicted about this whole thing. He knew it was you, and he knew that you were doing a bad thing, but even after it ended, Steve wouldn’t let go this idea that you can be redeemed. That we all have some sort of redemption in ourselves.” 

Bucky sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, that sounds like Steve.”

“No wonder you two fucked.”

“What?”

“A, not that hard to tell. B, he is the first person that has been pulling for you since the start of this whole fiasco. C, he’s easy on the eyes.”

“Steve’s been rooting for me since high school, so,” Bucky shrugged. “I still have my reservations about you, don’t think this little chit chat changed anything.”

“Don’t worry,” Sam raised his eyebrows, “you’re still a murderous ex-assassin to me.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

*

“Hey,” Sam tried to get Bucky’s attention, but he didn’t hear. Bucky rested his chin on his chest and had his eyes closed trying to sleep. “ _ Hey.” _

“What?” Bucky didn’t even open his eyes.

“Look, southwest corner,” Sam instructed, and Bucky begrudgingly followed. “Is that a window or a mirror?”

Bucky got up and moved the chair to the side of the wall, so he could take a look at the small opening. “It’s a window.”

“The room isn’t  _ the room _ ,” Sam stated. “That small window is our way out.”

“It looks like it’s still plexiglass. Ends up in another empty room.”

“Another empty room that’s not locked and reinforced,” Sam started to walk around the room looking for a crowbar or something that was able to -

Sam heard the splintering of thick glass, and saw Bucky shaking off his metal arm, letting the shards fall to the ground. 

“Are you flexible enough to get through this thing?” Bucky asked, as he prepared to hoist himself into the open space. 

“Me?” Sam questioned as he saw Bucky fit himself into the window and fall down. 

“ _ Yes, you,”  _ Bucky answered through the space. Sam walked to the chair, stood up and peered through. Bucky was on the other side, arms folded and scowling. “If I can get through it, you can too. Just takes some maneuvering.”

“If I end up with half a body, because of this, I’m suing.”

“Sounds good, Mr. FBI man,” Bucky said back. 

︾

He walked around the floor with the glass walls - 

_ You’re him, but you’re not. You work for me right now. Remember. We’re the good guys. Those two - they’ll be pointing guns at you. Point yours right back. They betrayed you. Don’t think, just do it. Kill. _

_ Who are they?  _

_ It doesn’t matter. _

_ It’s like having a word at the tip of your tongue. _

_ Just  _ fucking get on with it, _ soldier.  _

_ Will do. _

\- and waited for the two men to arrive, gun in hand, by the windowsill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter updates will be coming quicker! Every other day until the end of the story.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All rights belong to Marvel

He sat on the windowsill and waited for them to arrive. Why did he know them? 

He remembered soft smiles and warm hands. 

_ Kill them _ .  _ You don’t have much time. _

_ Why? _

_ Your brain is a little different than our last host. You went under faster, and thus you heal quicker. We have no less than three hours before you remember who I really am.  _

He remembers metal. 

_ “Steve? _ ” he heard a name being called out from the stairwell. “ _ Steve?!”  _

“ _ Steve, where are you?” _ another man called out from the same location. 

“I’m up here,” he responded. He heard frantic footsteps run towards him and cocked his gun. A man, almost as tall as him, with short hair and grown out stubble paused as he reached the doorway, and jogged over to where he was. 

“Hey,” he smiled. “Are you..are you okay? Did you find anything?”

“Nothing, as far as it goes. Just a bunch of glass walls and empty rooms, really. How about you?”

“As far as we know, something’s up. Zola locked us in one of the dummy red rooms and said something that the book is here, but not...I don’t know.” The short-haired man looked into the eyes of the man standing before him. 

He cleared his throat, and brought the other man into a hug. It felt...right. It felt like he belonged there. 

He would hate to kill someone that had a lot of meaning to him. 

︾

Bucky welcomed the hug. He welcomed the warmth, to know that he was alive, but something felt...

Something felt off. 

Steve always swayed slightly whenever he would hug him. There would always be movement, always swaying like they were in the wind. He heard Sam aim his gun in his direction. 

Suddenly, he felt the wind that ran through his lungs cut off, with his callused hands gripping his neck tight. Bucky clawed at his throat, hoping for some sort of relieve. “Ste- _ Steve,”  _ Bucky said trying to catch his breath. 

Sam fired bullets, trying to catch Steve at his shoulders or legs, but the bullets missed and buried into the concrete behind him. Still holding Bucky’s neck, Steve took his gun and fired back at Sam - missing him slightly the first few times, hitting the glass walls, and shattering them, letting the glass cascade down. 

The third bullet fired grazed Sam’s arm, causing him to yell in pain. “ _ Fuck!”  _

Steve’s eyes went slightly wild, and his grip loosened on Bucky’s neck, just enough for him to pull away and twist Steve’s arm. He cried in pain and slammed him to the floor. Sam ran over to him still gripping his grazed arm. 

A loud bang from a few floors down caught their attention. 

“Someone’s escaping,” Sam mentioned quickly, before Steve could get up again, “Go, I’ll take care of him.” Bucky paused. “ _ Go,” _ Sam stressed, “you’re the one that’s not hurt.”

Bucky looked at Steve, and then back at Sam. “Okay, be safe with him,” he said before getting up from the floor and jogging back down the stairs. Steve was able to stagger himself up, and face Sam. Sam just grinned, pulled his hand back and punched Steve square in the face. Steve staggered, and fell on the floor. 

“How about that for some cognitive recalibration?” Sam muttered, and looked around like people were there. “Gotta save that one for another time.”

*

Bucky opened the door and saw someone walking away, with a small book in his hands. “ _ Hey!”  _ The man just walked faster. “ _ Hey!”  _ Bucky yelled again, cocked and reloaded his gun before shooting at the man.

“How the  _ fuck _ are you still alive?” His voice -  _ Rumlow _ \- gritted out, as he turned around. 

“Got around your little party tricks, Rumlow. Let’s fucking finish this shit, I’m  _ tired. _ ” 

“You want this, Barnes?” Rumlow asked as he held up the red book, and held up a lighter. He showed it off before throwing down the book on the ground, and flipping the lighter on. 

“ _ No!”  _ Bucky screamed as he started running towards Rumlow, as the other man started to shoot at him. Bucky ducked, only evading the last few bullets by millimeters away. Bucky stopped, which caused Rumlow to stop. “Where’s Zola?” 

“He’s  _ gone _ , Soldier -”

“ _ Don’t call me that!”  _ Bucky screamed back. 

“He’s in Austria. He’s back into hiding.”

“ _ Bullshit!” _

_ “ _ Don’t believe, me? He’s gone. He’s never gonna resurface. His prized possession is still walking around without a  _ leash. _ ”

Bucky drew his gun and fired at Rumlow again, causing him to pick up the book and run. Bucky ran out of bullets and Rumlow immediately turned around and ran up to Bucky, catching him by the throat. 

“In the eye of the State, I am a  _ mere _ civilian, and you? You  _ Ghost?  _ You’ll always be a _ murderer,”  _ Rumlow gripped tight before throwing Bucky on the ground, and spat on him.

Rumlow walked to the book with ease, picked it up and walked backwards, looking at Bucky. “This is your end,  _ Ghost. _ You know what you have?  _ Nothing _ . You’ll be rotting away in a prison, and I’ll be sucking on Tequila Sunrises by the beach. They don’t have anything on-”

Rumlow’s body flew across the dirt road as a large van collided with him, causing him to splay across the road, the book feet away from his hands. 

“Did someone call Scott Lang, FBI’s most loved confidential informant?” Scott Lang said as he leaned towards the open window. Bucky just sat down on the road, putting his face into his hands. “What? Hey, you’re not Grant.” Scott’s face fell and looked towards Rumlow’s body. “Holy shit, did I just kill a person?” 


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> KSAZ - FOX 10 NEWS - Special Report

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All rights belong to Marvel

“ _We are here live in Phoenix at the old abandoned research facility, the same place almost a decade ago where the head CEO was murdered in his own office. That case is still cold, however, reports of a firefight held right inside this very building have alerted authorities only hours ago.  Local police were on the scene first, but now local and national FBI teams have taken over the case. We haven’t received word as to who or what is involved, but we have received a tip that it is in fact connected with the explosions in the pacific northwest and midwest parts of the country,”_ the news anchor talked directly into the camera, and walked alongside the yellow police tape. The camera operator tried to zoom into the background to capture the FBI agents talking to each other. A average height man with dark hair was sitting on the seat in the black car, with a blanket around him giving a statement to an agent.

“ _The man of the hour, with the blanket wrapped around him, is a man we have learned to be Scott Lang, a California resident. We are not sure as to why he is here, but he is the one that stopped the alleged culprit by hitting him with his van, and as the reports go, by accident.”_

The man was identified as SCOTT LANG, as seen on the bottom chyron of the report that moved across the bottom of the screen, as he walked by the camera. “ _Mr. Lang! Mr. Lang! Do you have time to talk to us about the situation here?”_ The reporter extended her arm to try and capture some sort of sound for the show.

“ _Uh,”_ Scott looked at the camera. “ _I don’t think I can actually talk about anything? I mean there’s gonna be a huge trial or something? My friend texted me like almost a day ago. I was in LA for a job and got a message. They wanted some backup in case something happened. I think the FBI director that is here will kill me if I tell anything else.”_

_“Nick Fury is here?”_

_“Yeah,”_ Scott looked back and pointed to the man with the eyepatch, and suit. “ _Actually, I can’t talk anymore, I think he’s going to snap my neck. Bye.”_

Scott Lang walked off the screen and quickly returned. “I _f you’re in the San Francisco region and need any security solutions, contact X-Con!”_ he flashed a smile before jogging off.

 _“Okay, well that was quite the interview,”_ the reporter joked to the camera operator. “S _o things are still being investigated nothing new. We will give you an update when something comes up, back to you David.”_

*

“ _Thanks David for the intro again,”_ the reporter smiled _. “In the interim nothing much occurred, but now, large police SUVs have pulled up to the scene with multiple officers with heavy duty safety equipment and went inside. That was about five minutes ago, and now we are -”_

The camera operator became erratic and started to jog towards the police barricade. A grainy video of someone being cuffed and then pushed towards the SUV was shown. “ _We can only speculate, but it looks like that is_ The Ghost _\- the highly specialized assassin that was brought in by the FBI and according to semi-redacted reports ,there was some confirmation that he managed to escape the holding facility. It looks like he is being placed into the car, and being taken away. Oh,”_ the camera operator swung the camera to the other side, showing someone being taken in a stretcher to an ambulance. “ _We can’t quite get a clear picture on this person, though, but it could be the other culprit involved in the firefight,”_ the reporter put a finger to her ear, as though someone was talking to her. “ _According to a source, the man hit by the car is alive - and also being taken to the local speciality hospital with officers in place.”_

The ambulance drove off, and a tall man with an eyepatch and suit walked up.

“ _I think you’ve seen enough today,”_ the man with the eyepatch and sharp suit said, “ _and you definitely got enough footage for your excellence in local news reporting award. Goodbye,”_ the man with the eyepatch pushed the camera down, and the camera showed the grass for a more than a few seconds, before turning back to the reporter.

“ _Well, there you have it. The police and FBI are aggressively shutting this area down -”_ A police officer walked up to them.

“ _Ma’am we’re going to need a five mile radius. Please go to your van and drive through the specified routes.”_

“ _Back to you, David.”_

David turned back to the camera, after watching the monitor, and gave some confused looks to the crew behind the cameras. “ _Okay, well. Thank you Lilliana for that report on the field. If you would like to watch it again, the report will be up on our website within the hour. We will catch up with her tomorrow, for another first hand report as to what she and the camera operator saw there today. Now, the Phoenix Animal Shelter is raising some big bones for the littlest members of their facility at the adoption fair. Jerry has your story. Jerry?”_


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know anything about court proceedings. So. Enjoy!
> 
> All rights belong to Marvel.

It had been weeks.

No, months.

It had been months.

It had been months since Phoenix. The weather changed from an unusually warm winter to a balmy spring, and the sun that shone in D.C. didn’t hold back.

Steve Rogers was bored. When he showed back up at headquarters a week after the fight, the whole floor went quiet. He ducked his head low and got to his desk, wiped down the layer of dust that coated the area and booted up his computer.

They gave him nothing. _Maybe_ small ounces of paperwork to do, but in the end, it was just scanning.

He was bored, and itched for a case. But he wasn’t even sure if he was allowed to, because here’s the thing: Steve Rogers was compromised. In Phoenix, Rumlow got to him. A _Red Room_ \- as the files are calling it - was found in each facility, and used something to be able to mold _his_ mind like play-dough. After Rumlow was sent off in an ambulance to be treated, they took Steve away, and right onto a plane. He was brought to a hospital in D.C. and the doctor who treated Steve at one of the speciality hospitals was a top tier. Somehow they managed to get a hold of his health records from back in Brooklyn. All confidential and _technically_ still sealed, but it was an emergent case.

They found Steve lying on the ground surrounded by glass and blood, with Sam putting pressure on his wound that he caused. But, he got out of it quicker than expected. It was all part of the serum they gave him back when he was a sick kid in the hospital. Quicker healing and since his brain was damaged, it replaced those neurons to create new ones, and somehow shake off the control they had over him.

Bucky lasted ten years.

Steve’s phone on his desk rang, and he quickly picked it up.

“Rogers,” Steve said.

“My office, five minutes,” Fury stated back, and before Steve could respond the line went dead.

*

Steve walked up the to the open door.

“You know the rules, Rogers, if the door is open you may enter,” Fury stated as he signed the next few pages in his packet. Steve sat down and figited.

“You called me in?” Steve asked, as he closed the door.

Fury raised his eyebrows, and put his pen down. “You think it was a clone?” Steve didn’t budge. “There’s…there’s a lot to talk about, so close the damn door.”

“I can do this all day, if that helps?” Steve replied, as he followed instructions.  

Fury pinched the bridge of his nose. “How this first? What the everloving _fuck_ were you thinking, Steve?”

“I uh-”

“If the next words out of your mouth isn’t _I wasn’t,_ I prefer for you to let me finish.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. This man - _the Ghost_ \- that you were chasing, has killed many, _many_ , people. You could have died. You could have gotten captured, more so than you actually did, and you could have led them all back to your little spot. You went on a month trip around the west and midwest states with someone who blew up a facility, and you did it all behind the FBI’s back. Pretty sure that’s treason.”

The pit in Steve’s stomach grew.

“Do you know how long, _on top of your other crimes that you actually did commit, don’t think we forgot Rogers,_ you’re going to be committed to prison?”

“Ten years plus possible death penalty?” Steve responded.

“Okay, treason is putting it harsh, but you can easily get life, if you get the right lawyer,” Fury sighed.

“I...I don’t know what to do. I was just trying to help him. He wasn’t in the wrong. I mean, _he was_ , he did do something bad, but he was being manipulated. There are people like Rumlow and Zola who are the actual bad people in this situation. He was just trying to get away.”

“Then why did you follow him?”

Steve bit his lip, and paused. “Because, I think I felt as though I knew he wouldn’t actually _do_ anything. He would just sit in a space and try and blend. It worked, but I think he just needed a push to get the book. Was that found?”

“What about the first explosion?” Nick asked Steve.

“I think he was just trying to release some energy. Metaphorically, and maybe it turned into...an issue.”

“More than a damn issue.”

“What about the book?”

“You and that book, Rogers. It’s retrieved and being looked over by our forensics team. They definitely updated it to have a quicker control rate. Whatever that doc did to you when you were younger helped both ways. You went under quick, and got out of it quicker. Probably would have been a vegetable at that rate.”

“What’s going to happen to him?” Steve asked.

︾

“We’re advising you to plead guilty,” one of Bucky’s lawyers scratched the back of his neck, “you can probably scrape by with ten years. It’s a miracle the judge is thinking about giving us aggravated second degree manslaughter charge.”

“What’s that again?”

“Murder, but because you were technically under the influence as they were drugging you and controlling you...and everything else.”

Bucky winced at the sentence. “Is that...good?”

“Good? _Good?!”_ The lawyer angrily ran his hands through his hair. “This is a _fucking godsend_ of a sentence.”

“What if I plead not guilty?”

“No,” he said curtly. “No, you are not doing that. You’re going to say you’re guilty, get ten years, then you can go back to escaping to the Yukon in Canada or whatever.”

Bucky dipped his head.

︾

“When’s his trial?” Steve asked Fury.

“A few days from now. So, can I count on you to testify?”

“Testify? In what case?”

“James'.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Okay,” Fury leaned forward on his desk, “how about this. You testify, we take away your time in jail.”

“Seems a bit sketchy.”

“I have to keep revealing secrets, don’t I?” Fury hypothetically asked.

*

Days later, court was called into session, and Steve sat in the last row, trying to hid behind all the people that came to witness. News reporters, paparazzi, and all the people that weren’t tangentially involved were forced to stay outside the building waiting for any sort of news.

The lawyers started off with their statements, their soft tones. It wasn’t a question of _if_ Bucky actually did it, but more what constituted the first degree murder versus the manslaughter charge.  

The next day, the evidence was shown to the jury. The Red Book, pictures from Zola’s office, charts.

However, the prosecution swiped the rug under their feet - the wired payments. All the money Bucky took, all the jobs that he accepted.

It was undeniable that he technically _chose_ to do this - he was in a way still autonomous, and because he was going to get paid, he chose.

That was the punch in the stomach.

“How do you plead?” The judge asked.

Bucky was quiet, and he closed his eyes. “Guilty.”

At that point the court broke for recess, and as they dragged Bucky back into his holding cell, they made eye contact for exactly one second, but in that one second he saw the pain.

*

“We call to the stand, Mr. Steve Rogers, Special Agent of the FBI.”

Steve stood up and walked to the front of the courthouse and to the stand. He didn’t even want to look at Bucky. He put his hand on the Bible, and raised his hand.

“Do you solemnly swear that you will tell the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, under pains and penalties of perjury?”

“I do,” Steve answered and sat down. It was a tennis game - swinging the questions and answers back and forth. By the time the prosecution came to ask him all the questions, Steve was just tired. At this point, _he_ was the one who wanted to be escaping to the Yukon.

“So, Agent Rogers, you were assigned to keep an eye on James Barnes, is that correct?” the prosecutor asked.

“I mean, it’s wasn’t really ‘ _keeping an eye’_ on him -” Steve tried to talk.

“Yes or no answers, Agent Rogers.”

“Yes,” Steve sighed.

“How far did your interrogations go, Agent Rogers?”

“We kept it professional.”

“Here I have some reports of your level of involvement -”

“ _Objection!”_ the defense interjected. “Not necessary, we’re here to interrogate about Mr. Barnes, not Agent Rogers.”

“Sustained,” the judge ruled.

The prosecutor sighed. “Okay, well. You two had a good friendship? You knew each other well?”

“Yes,” Steve answered.

“So, you knew that Mr. Barnes was taking money for the kills he was committing?”

“Not quite -”

“Yes or no answers, Agent Rogers.”

“No, I didn’t know. But I knew he was drugged.”

“Please don’t speak out of turn. Would you say that Mr. Barnes, understood what was going on in his day to day life?”

“Yes.”

“So, he was able to make conscious decisions in everyday life. Which coffee to choose -”

_Cappuccinos._

“-the best places to run -”

_No running._

“-the best place to get his car fixed-”

“He didn’t have a car.”

“What? That’s not the point, the point is Mr. Barnes, in acceptance for committing these atrocities, was paid. He was a hired assassin. Every time Zola contacted him James Barnes accepted. Since he had the ability to have a conscious thought, he had the ability to say no. He didn’t.”

“No.”

“What? I didn’t ask a question.”

“I’m well aware. He didn’t have the conscious ability to say yes or no to _Zola,_ because _Zola_ was drugging him to be more compliant to him. Even when you stop taking medication, it’s still in your system for weeks at a time. He was able to kind of give conscious thought to everything else but when it came to him? All bets were off -”

“ _Objection!_ Speaking out of term! Your honor, this is clearly contempt.”

“I think we’re done here,” the judge slammed his gavel on the podium.

︾

The trial took weeks, even after the angered yelling to see if it was a mistrail, but Bucky got his charge.

It took the jury a mere hour to come back with their verdict. The judge looked it over their glasses and sighed. Leaning in, they started to speak. “Guilty for Aggravated Manslaughter in the second degree. Ten years minimum in prison, starting today,” the judge hit their gavel on the podium.

Bucky stood up, and was led out of the courtroom by two bailiffs back into the holding cell as his lawyers shook their hands. He turned around once more to get a view of the crowd, and could only lock eyes with Steve who stood in the back of the room, right before he opened the doors.

He was brought to his holding cell, and sat there for hours. He sat there thinking that this will be his life, and well, it had been the lives of many, so he would just have to get used to it.

Bucky was brought out of his thoughts when a guard threw him a small bag of clothes, and waved her hand. “Come with me.”

“What?”

“Just follow me.”

“Okay.”

︾

**Weeks Earlier**

“I have to keep revealing secrets, don’t I?” Fury stated, and Steve raised an eyebrow. “Brock Rumlow is alive and in custody, and Zola? He’s still out there.”

“...and?” Steve asked.

“Rumlow has been making threats against Bucky. Telling people that he’s gonna have more of Zola’s goons come after him, and when he gets out of prison, he’s gonna, and these are his words not mine, ‘ _rip that asshole’s head right off the base of his spine, and his asshole boyfriend’s  too.”_

“How lovely.”

“Seems like a nice guy.”

“So what does that mean?”

“Witness protection.”

“What about Bucky - I mean _James_?”

︾

**Present Day**

“Warden, if I may interject, where the fuck are we going? This doesn’t seem like the prison,” Bucky muttered as he walked quietly behind her.

“Just a few more steps,” the warden stopped in front of a wooden door, and un-cuffed Bucky. He furrowed his eyebrows.

‘What -” Bucky said right before the door opened and Steve stood in civilian clothes, hair dyed a dark brown color, “Steve?”

“Hey, there, Buck,” Steve smiled. Bucky stood in the doorway.

“What’s going on?” Buck asked as he stood frozen.

Nick Fury stepped into view. Director of the FBI. He had an order once.

“Hello, James. We need to talk to you about some things,” Nick Fury said as he sat down on the leather couch, “and some of those things includes the witness protection program. Come in.”

Bucky’s grip loosened on the bag the warden gave him, and stepped into the room.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All rights belong to Marvel.

It wasn’t ideal, but it was _something_.

It was something that Steve and Bucky had not intended, but they were here.

Safe.

_Together._

They allowed for home arrest for Bucky. There was some sort of agreement between Fury and the judge, that Bucky - to the public - was serving his time, but in reality, he was stashed away in an apartment in the Pacific NorthWest, waiting to be called to testify against Zola, Rumlow and his associates. Everything was spaced apart, and he just had to wait.

But he wasn’t mad.

Not one bit.

Bucky was with Steve Rogers. Childhood friend, turned drunk neighbor, turned FBI agent, turned rogue agent, turned husband. Fake husband, but to Bucky and Steve it felt like the real thing. Every so often, the old team back in D.C. would call in, Steve would talk to them for hours at end, and in turn, Carol would call and talk to Bucky, asking when she could visit, wanting to see them both for some drinks.

It felt so normal.

*

One unusually sunny morning, Steve padded into the kitchen and made some coffee, watching the dust reflect the light from the sun that filtered through the window. Bucky walked up behind Steve and snaked his hands behind his back giving light kisses to the crook of his neck.

“Mornin’” Bucky muttered, as Steve turned around in his arms.

“Morning,” Steve smiled, and leaned down to kiss. Bucky accepted and deepened it. A small moan escaped Steve’s throat, and pulled away with a smile on his face. “Three sips of coffee, that’s a new record.”

“Truly held myself back this time,” Bucky chuckled, and let go of Steve. He poured himself a cup of coffee. Bucky leaned on the counter across from him. “Do you think we’ll be ever out of this...this situation?”

Steve took a sip. “I don’t know, but I quite like it. It has its perks.”

“What if I have to go back to prison?”

Steve set his coffee mug down. “Then I’ll be waiting for you. I will promise you that.” Warmth filled Bucky, and he leaned in to capture Steve’s lips for a quick kiss. “Oh!” Steve pulled away and pulled his phone out to open to a website. “How do you feel about adopting a dog or two? Get a chihuahua and name it Devil or something like that.”

It started and ended with a promise. A promise that bound them together, intertwining their fates, without a care in the world.

Bucky didn’t even hear what Steve said, but just watched his face pull into a smile as he talked. There was so much that was still going on, but it didn’t bother him. He was here. Making his own choices, his own path.

His own life.

Bucky let Steve talk about the ironic dog combinations, as he sat down at the kitchen island. He didn’t think he would ever feel this way again. Talking to his friend, _his other half_ , face to face, without worrying that he was going to mess anything up.

Bucky leaned back, watching the light capture Steve Roger’s face, feeling happy for the first time in over ten years.

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With that, the entire story is complete.
> 
> This entire series was one of my favorite, and well most difficult, things to write. I really enjoyed crafting it as much as I enjoyed hearing everyones feedback. Thank you for reading, commenting, kudos'ing, bookmarking, etc. if you have been with the story from the first part, or just picking it up now, I can't tell you how much it means to me. I want to thank my cheerleaders for this story TinyOtter and birdjay who have kept my motivation for writing these three parts. 
> 
> It's been a wonderful ride and with that I bid adieu until the next story (outside of this series).
> 
> Much love. 💖

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism always welcome!


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